


The Fat Lady Sings

by emannep



Category: ID4, Independence Day (1996)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emannep/pseuds/emannep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A parapsychologist is recruited to Area 51 to use her fringe science and ESPer abilities to assist in the study of the aliens that crashed in Roswell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally decided to dust off this fic and repost it. (This was posted waay back when on alt.fan.brent-spiner and my old AOL RGB website. *waves to anyone still around from those days*) I did so love Brent Spiner back in TNG. Well, Brent in just about anything, really. Oh, and I just found out while doing this repost, that the sequel to ID4 -- ID Forever, Part 1, is supposed to be released in 2015, and Roland Emmerich wants Brent back as Dr. Okun. I can't wait to see how he resurrects Brackish.
> 
> Anyhoo, back to the story -- the characters from ID4, the movie and the novel are not mine. They belong to 20th Century Fox, Centropolis Entertainment, Dean Devlin, Roland Emmerich and Stephen Molstad. However, I can claim Dr. B. Stevens, and several other incidental characters.
> 
> This story is taken from both ID4 the movie, and the ID4 novelization. I took most of the information from the book, since the whole idea came from the section in the novel when our man Brackish (spelled that way in the book, btw) is showing off the alien bodies to the President. There was a small heated exchange between Bracky and Dr. Issacs about the validity of the aliens using telepathy to communicate. That section intrigued me, since Brackish was so dead set against the idea, and in the movie, he's fine with it. Go figure. I liked the book version of that part better. I'm sorry about any confusion, since some of you might not have read the novel. I highly recommend it, since it contains stuff with Dr. Okun that didn't make it to the screen. This story is also to be considered an "Alternate Universe" ID4, since I wrote about the "natural" interaction of the characters I created. 
> 
> Rated PG-13, for the End of the World, as we know it, a bit of profanity and suggested sexual situations. ;)
> 
> Also, this story was started right after ID4 came out--long before I'd even heard of the ID4 prequel novel, "The Silent Zone". I skimmed through the book, and I made a few minor changes to this story, but since this is a definite A/U ID4, I felt I didn't really need to address all the discrepancies between their Dr. Okun and my version of him.

* * *

The large room was cast in shadows, the only light coming from the three cylindrical tanks that stood as silent sentries at the front of the room. The alien bodies floated serenely in their liquid preservative, their glass coffins refracting the meager light and making unearthly shadows on the tiled floor. Great hulking shapes were silhouetted in the gloom: antiquated scientific equipment also in its final resting place. It was quiet. Peaceful.

One of the shadows detached itself from the mechanical graveyard and made its way to stand in front of the middle cylinder. A tentative hand reached for the glass, touching it, palm up against the glass. Human green eyes searched the black alien orbs for understanding.

"Come on, guys, talk to me," the figure whispered. A moment passed, then two, and then the hand reluctantly withdrew. With a sigh, the woman stepped back and regarded the aliens sadly. Again, nothing. How many times had she tried to get some impression from these beings? She'd lost count. A wry smile flitted across her lips. She was sure that Dr. Okun knew.

She sighed again. Dr. Brackish Okun was an enigma with startling blue eyes and polyester high-water pants. An enigma that would be terminating her from the project if she didn't start getting some results.

She'd been brought to the facility seven months earlier, at the request of Dr. Issacs. He strongly believed that the aliens communicated by using telepathy, and had asked for a parapsychologist to join the research team. The name at the top of his short list of candidates was one Dr. Brenda Stevens, due to the fact that not only was she one of the leading doctors in her field, but that she had high ESPer quotient. He had flown into New York to meet with her personally, and even when he was vague about what her new assignment would entail, she accepted the offer eagerly. There was something about his secretiveness that intrigued her. There was more to this than just your typical government hush-hush project. So when she'd been given security clearance and found out that her new position would be at Area 51, she hadn't been surprised. What had surprised her was her reaction to Dr. Brackish Okun. She could remember the moment vividly.

While waiting alone in Dr. Okun's office to be officially welcomed to the project, Brenda had begun to get quite a mental picture of the man that was to be her boss. She was glad that Dr. Issacs had to go search for Dr. Okun; this afforded her the chance to get a 'feel' for the man. His office was a clutter of computer print-outs, reference books and empty ceramic coffee cups with various logos. She suppressed a grin at the black _X-Files_ mug -- she had one of those herself. Something unusual about the mug caught her eye and she looked at it closely. The trademark catch phrase, _'The Truth Is Out There'_ had been changed. A white line crossed out the words _'Out There'_ and beneath them, the mug bore the new words, _'Down Here'_ , written in what looked suspiciously like liquid paper.

This time she grinned openly; this was going to be one hell of an assignment.

She looked at his work station where a top-of-the-line computer system sat prominently, yellow post-it-notes adorning its monitor frame. An elaborate all-in-one stereo system with an impressive blinking light display sat in arms' reach from his desk chair, a sprawl of compact discs littered around it. Glancing at the discs, she could saw that it was mostly classic hard rock, and surprisingly, show tunes. That was quite a leap. Her eyes strayed to the walls, covered with schematics and blueprints. Rock and roll posters -- and was that a Broadway Playbill for _The Three Musketeers_? -- peeked out from behind the technical drawings, perhaps a reminder (to himself?) that he was more than just the sum of his work. She was really getting curious to meet the man.

When he burst into the office in flurry of frenetic energy, his white lab coat fluttering behind him like a pair of wings, she hadn't been surprised at the oddly-matched clothes and long shock of graying hair. Somehow it seemed to suit him. But the aura of anger emanating from him. . .that was out of place. And when she realized his anger was directed at her, she could only stare at him, trying to determine what was wrong.

He took her staring in stride, evidently used to the odd looks he received. "I didn't know the Psychic Friends made housecalls," he said without introduction. He went past her to his desk and plopped down in the chair, punching the CD player into action. The machine whirred and clicked and the electric guitar strains of Norman Greenbaum's _"Spirit in the Sky"_ filled the office, sending its graphic equalizer into a dazzling lightshow.

Brenda forced herself not to cover her ears at the decibel level. She decided to play along until she could get a reading as to why he was upset. "Yeah, we do," she yelled over the opening verse of the song. "And it's a heckuva lot more expensive than a 900 call, so your credit card limit better be impressive."

He narrowed his eyes at her and Brenda found herself staring again. The eyes behind those glasses were so blue you could swim in them. Gazes locked, she felt a connection open to him. It happened so suddenly and was so intense, that for an eternity of time that in reality couldn't have lasted more than the space between her rapid heartbeats, she lost herself in him. Marshaling her thoughts, she reluctantly pulled herself away from the contact. She thought wryly that if she came equipped with a graphic equalizer herself, at that moment, her own spiking rainbow display would rival the one on Dr. Okun's desk.

_Wow._

A college graduate with a degrees in psychology and parapsychology and an IQ nudging 170, and the only word she could come up with to describe what had happened to her was _wow. WOW._

She knew she was in trouble.

With more difficulty than she could remember, she managed to focus on the undercurrents of feelings that were swirling around her. It was tough to zero in on his anger - his aura was the most unique she'd ever had the pleasure of reading. There were levels upon levels here, intense, yet frivolous, balanced, yet unstructured. It was the most complex aura she'd ever felt. It would take her quite some time to get a handle on this man. When she was finally able to balance her dazed mental equilibrium, she pulled out the cause of his anger. _Ah_. Another one that thought parapsychology was a crock, and he didn't want her to "contaminate his project". Well, she'd certainly been acquainted with more than her share of those, but it was disappointing to feel the skepticism coming from this man. But she was a scientist. She was a professional. She was good at her job. She could handle it.

Oh, how wrong she'd been.

If it had been only convincing him that her field of expertise was indeed, a valid scientific avenue of research, she would have had no problem. But working closely with him, drowning in those blue eyes day after day. . .she'd fallen head-over-heels in love with him.

Her connection in the following months had grown stronger, probably due to her intense personal feelings for him. She couldn't explain why it had happened so suddenly and so thoroughly. Maybe it had been his quirky style of dress. Maybe it was the way those striking blue eyes would light up with such enthusiasm when he was off on a new discovery about his aliens. Or just maybe it was the way he'd accepted her, if not her ESP, without the usual disdain that men had for women that could stand to lose a few pounds. Or fifty. She'd always been a big girl, as her mother had delicately put it, even before The Big Gain. At five-foot six, her weight, although way over the average for her height, was pretty evenly proportioned and she never really gave it much thought anymore. It wasn't like she'd ever dated a lot anyway. Her ESP ability made certain of that. Knowing what someone you found attractive or interesting really thought about you definitely put a damper on your love life. She wasn't really a loner though, she made friends quite easily. Over the years, she had developed a healthy sense of humor to go along with her equally healthy appetite.

Which brought her back to Brackish Okun. She loved his sense of humor. He was really funny. She made it a point to be in on the briefings that he conducted down in the 'Freak Show' when the rare rotation of rookies were brought onboard to Area 51. Sideshow Okun, she affectionately called him, though not to his face. With all the flair of a carnival barker, he directed their attention to the aliens and with a wicked gleam in his eyes, extolled the virtues of the decomposing unearthly trio. She particularly loved watching him watching the reactions of the inductees. How he did enjoy the shock in their faces. A born entertainer, if he hadn't been so bookish, she thought.

The feelings around Area 51 was that Okun, while being brilliant, was one of the oddest men anyone could have the pleasure of working with. Dedicated to his work to the point of obsession, he had no tolerance for any slip-shod work. But at the same time, it wasn't unusual for Dr. Okun to pipe-in Frank Zappa over the entire intercom system. His abundant energy and enthusiasm kept him from keeping a 'normal' work schedule. It was common for Brackish to work a sixteen hour day, and often he had to be reined in, usually by Dr. Issacs. He looked genuinely puzzled when reminded that anyone would rather eat and sleep than work on unraveling the mysteries of the alien visitors. But he pushed no one any harder than he pushed himself, Brenda noted, and wondered at the shallow thoughts she'd picked up from some of the lab techs. Most speculated that Okun was keeping the good drugs for himself, or that he was one of the aliens in disguise. Or he was just simply a 'certifiable nut-case'. But then again, most of the crew thought some pretty shallow things about her as well. "How could she let herself go like that", to the ever-popular, "But she's got such a pretty face."  She'd been 'hearing' things like that practically all her life and she'd built up a pretty tough skin against it, but now it hurt her to know what they thought about Dr. Okun.

And it just about killed her to know that he didn't love her in return.

Oh, he liked her, she was certain of that. There had been more than one occasion that the two of them had spent the night together, though not in the way Brenda would have liked. True, they had once spent the time lying together side-by-side, but it was in a particularly cramped section of the alien ship listening to him going over the finer points of alien technology. She treasured that night, remembering the feel of his body next to hers, watching his long, slender fingers dance nimbly over the bio-circuitry he was explaining to her. By that time, he had accepted her 'psuedoscience' degree and granted her equal status as a scientist and researcher, but she still had given him no proof that she could be of value with her extra-sensory perceptions. That night, he'd even encouraged her to try again. So she had, and with a sinking heart, felt his annoyance when she failed again.

Brenda put her hands in the pockets of her lab coat and pulled her thoughts back to the aliens in front of her. There was something there, she thought, staring into the depths of those unfathomable eyes. Something that she could use to help Brackish in his research. . . She shivered, wondering if it was from the rooms' lowered temperature or those strange yet compelling eyes. It was those eyes that had drawn her here tonight.

 _Windows to the soul,_ she thought. It was how she'd been able to see past all Brackish's odd quirks to the man inside, and why she always felt a tingle of dread around the aliens. But beyond that scant impression, nothing. And if she didn't produce anything valid soon, she'd probably be back in NY in time for the July 4th fireworks show. It was July 1st - _no, check that,_ she thought, glancing at her watch. It was after midnight. July 2nd. Yeah, Dr. Okun had been pretty patient up until now, considering that he thought the ESP angle with the aliens had no scientific grounding, even though she had been able to convince him of the scientific validity of parapsychology. She also sensed that Brackish was tiring of Dr. Issacs' firm belief that he had been right to follow-up on the notes that Dr. Welles, the original director of the Project, who had stated he'd had telepathic 'conversations' with the aliens. The arguments between the two scientists had been escalating, and Brenda knew that her lack of success in receiving any kind of connection with the aliens or their spaceship was the cause of the tension. Area 51 was a closed environment with an extremely delicate balance that had to be maintained. The Base Ops commander, Mitchell, was sure to be stepping in soon if Brackish and Newt didn't settle this conflict soon.

The sound of the mag-lock cycling made her jump. She didn't turn, realizing/sensing it was Brackish. She could feel his aura coming from a mile away. She blushed, caught again at another unsuccessful attempt with the aliens.

"Even dead, they're pretty neat, huh?" he said as he walked up behind her.

"Yeah," she said, wishing she'd taken her hair down from its usual workday ponytail. It was the one feature she really liked about herself. Long and chestnut brown, when freed, it spilled down in silky waves past her shoulders.

"So what brings you down to the Freak Show this late?" he asked cheerfully, his child-like enthusiasm spreading through her. She sensed that he already knew the answer to that, but for some reason, he was giving her a way out of declaring another failure. She actually considered a lie, but she respected him too much for that.

"I thought I'd give it one more try before I turned in," she answered, trying not to look at him. She always lost her logical train of thought when she did, and it was important to her to be professional around him. Especially since she loved him and she knew that he did not feel the same way for her. It had been devastating to realize that he only thought of her as a scientific colleague, and she supposed that she should be grateful that at least he did consider her to be a colleague and not some turban-headed fortune teller masquerading as a scientist. His initial feelings of her hadn't been too far off that mark.

They stood together for a few moments in silence, staring at the aliens. When Brackish spoke again, it was with a hesitance that Brenda had never heard or felt from him before. "You know, um, it's probably not your fault that you can't. . .ah, sense anything from them. It was never proven that Dr. Welles actually received any kind of telepathic thoughts from them." She could feel him looking down at her, feel the grin spread across his face at his next words, "And like I said, they're neat but they're dead."

Brenda smiled. "Sounds like a catch-phrase for a movie." She deepened her voice to mock a Coming Attractions voice-over. "'Area 51: The Aliens. They're Neat But They're Dead'."

He laughed and Brenda felt delicious tingle at the sound. "Not bad." He sobered. "I can't remember the last time I went to a movie. I mean a real movie at a theater." Shrugging, he went on, "The one we've got down here is great, but I kinda miss the sticky floor, crying-baby-behind-you experience."

"Really?" Brenda allowed herself a glance in his direction, thinking of the times she'd watched him and not the movies that were shown in the state-of-the-art THX mini-theater that was housed here.

"Okay, I don't really miss the crying baby," he confessed with a smile. "But the movie popcorn is to die for. The smell alone is guaranteed to drive sane men to drool."

"Ah, but the nineties spoiled all that decadence," Brenda said with a theatrical sigh. "I've actually heard the large size of that 'to-die-for' popcorn you refer to as the 'Roger Ebert Tub o' Death'. How's that for appetizing?"

"Yum," he said and they both cracked up. Most of the workers at 51 had problems talking with Brackish. The only problem she'd ever had in that regard was that once he began a discussion about his Freak Show and the Big Tamale, it was hard to get a word in edgewise. But she loved his voice so that was never a big problem in her opinion. After he realized that she did understand some of the techno-babble he was reeling off, he slowed down and actually tried to explain even more to her, not at her, as he did with most everyone else involved with the Project. Oh, yes, he liked her, liked the friendly relationship they'd developed. A relationship that wouldn't keep him from terminating her, though. As well as she thought she knew him, he continually surprised her.

But it looked like for once she was going to be the one to surprise him.

A sudden wave of nausea swept over her, and gasping, she looked up at him with wide eyes. He locked gazes with her, startled. "What's wrong?"

She tried to answer but was swept away as a tidal wave of psi-energy hit her. The last thing she saw was his hands, _oh, those gorgeous hands_ , reaching for her as she fell.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

"On three, everybody," Dr. Issacs said to the nurses. "One, two. . .three." With an intake of breath at the effort, four pairs of hands transferred the unconscious body of Dr. Stevens from the gurney to the hospital bed. "Thanks. Let's get her hooked up to the monitors."

"She just keeled over," Dr. Brackish Okun said as he watched the nurses carry out their orders. "No warning, nothing." He nervously ran a hand over his hair. "Anything in her medical background that would cause this?"

"Nothing," answered Dr. Issacs. He nodded as the monitors came online. "Not even a history of high blood pressure." To one of his nurses--Stacy, Okun thought was her name--Issacs said, "Let's run the usual."

"Then what the hell happened?" Brackish asked softly, wincing as Stacy stuck a needle in Dr. Stevens' arm. He looked away quickly as her blood began to fill the vacuum-sealed vial. "Any ideas?"

Issacs, busy, glanced back at his colleague. He bit back a short reply when he saw the expression on Okun's face. "I'll let you know as soon as I find out anything."

"Dr. Okun! Doctor!" Brackish turned to see his senior tech, Bob, an exceptionally bright young graduate from Cal-Tech running down the corridor toward him. "It's incredible! You won't believe it! Everybody is going nuts--"

"Whoa - slow down," Okun ordered as he caught the younger man by the arms and turned him away from the emergency area. He heard the jangle of the curtain being drawn behind him as Bob continued, more animated than he'd ever seen him.

"The Tamale -- the ship -- it's gone hot!"

Okun froze, not entirely sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"It's turning itself on! She's got power!"

He could only stare, his heart pounding as he took in the enormity of what he'd heard. Then after a moment, he whooped with joy. "Fantastic! Let's get--" he stopped and looked back at the curtain, watching the shadow play of Dr. Issacs as he examined Dr. Stevens. He wavered for an instant, torn by wanting to see if she was okay and the sudden powering up of the Tamale. Of course, the Tamale won. Dr. Stevens would be fine, and she'd understand why he had to go. "Well, what are we standing around here for? Let's get down there, Bob, and see what we can see." Raising his voice, he said, "Keep me posted on Dr. Stevens." And with that, he turned and jogged after Bob.

 

***

Brackish Okun had never been so happy in his life.

Bob had not been exaggerating. The Tamale had gone hot, and had gotten hotter as the hours had passed. Systems that had never been able to be identified now bore hastily hand-written labels naming their function. Techs crawled in and on and around the ship like ants, recording data as fast as their laptops and measuring devices could take it. Okun oversaw it all, drinking in the new information. This was incredible! After fifteen years, for this to suddenly happen. There had to be a logical reason why, so he wasn't surprised when Major Mitchell had told him about SETI and the alien transmissions. The boys were back in town.

The only thing that kept this from being the most perfect day in his life was Dr. Brenda Stevens.

Dr. Issacs was worried. Dr. Stevens had slipped into a coma-like state, reason unknown. Her EEG readings were off the scale, reason unknown. And Dr. Issacs had pointed out that her condition had appeared at the exact time the alien transmissions had been discovered. Which made something Brackish Okun thought he'd gotten under control again rear its ugly head.

When Dr. Stevens had been brought onboard to Area 51, he'd fought against it. Hard. Extra-sensory contact with the aliens? Yeah, right. He'd read and re-read the notes of his predecessor, Dr. Welles. There was no proof that any contact had occurred. It was pure fantasy. Science-fiction. Especially since he himself had tried it. Of course, the aliens had been long dead when he took over the project, but Okun was nothing if not thorough in his research. He'd been tested for ESP back in college, on a lark, and was surprised when his scores came back above normal. He felt confident that if anybody could make any kind of contact and learn anything more about the aliens, it would be him. So when he had tried and failed, he logically closed off that area of research. He could and probably should have contacted a psi-sensitive long before Dr. Issacs did, but the truth be told, if anyone was to get a 'connection' with his aliens, he wanted it to be himself, Dr. Brackish Okun. He wasn't sure when he'd become so possessive of the Project, but there it was, out in the open and in all its glory. He was jealous and afraid that Brenda Stevens, parapsychologist and psychic to boot, would succeed where he had failed.

Now this. There was no other logical conclusion. Dr. Stevens had been able to sense the approaching alien presence, and her condition was due to the contact. But what amazed him, however, was that his concern for her far outweighed any jealousy he felt. He wanted her to be all right. He couldn't wait to tell her what had been discovered since the ship had powered up. He could just see her, grinning beside him, as they identified all the cool little doo-dads and thingamabobs. An odd thought struck him and he nearly dropped the screwdriver he was holding.

He missed her. He actually missed her.

_Whoa._

_Major._

Now when did that happen? When had he passed the colleague line with her and moved her into the friendship category? And why did he have to realize it now, when the Tamale had opened up and started revealing its secrets? He couldn't take the time to figure it out now--wouldn't allow himself the time. He had to concentrate. He tightened his grip on the screwdriver and went back to reconnecting one of the life support filters. He wanted to get it back in the ship, pronto and. . .oh, man, he'd been a real shit to her over the past months about her telepathy. As soon as she was up and around, he'd apologize. If she was able to get back up and around. _Oh, man. . ._

A muffled cry tore him out of his thoughts. He looked around for the source.

"Oh, my God," cried a woman - he didn't recognize her, but she did look vaguely familiar - standing at the top of the ramp that led down to the concrete chamber that housed the alien ship. She looked like she was in shock. "They. . . they attacked." Horrified murmurs from his crew rose up around him. The woman choked down a sob and continued. "It's on the TV. New York, Washington, L.A.--they're all gone!"

The huge room went deadly silent, except for the beeps of the monitors and the crying of the woman. The buzzing of the phone brought the tech closest to it out of his daze and with a shaking hand, he answered it, listening mutely. He looked up at Okun. "Dr. Issacs said he needs you in the infirmary."

Okun nodded, knowing it must be about Dr. Stevens. "Yeah. Okay. Tell him I'm on my way." As the shaken tech relayed the answer and hung up, Okun turned to his crew. "Let's get back to work." He started to say more - but what else was there to say now? There was nothing to be said or done that would lessen the blow they'd just received. It was better to get busy, find out all they could about the aliens and their ship. "Let's get back to work," he repeated. He handed over the filter and tool to a tech, then hurried up the ramp heading for the infirmary.

The sound of wracking sobs reached him before he got there. Issacs met him in the hall outside the room where they'd placed Dr. Stevens. "She woke up screaming at precisely 23:32," he said without preamble. "When the alien firebombs hit the cities." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We haven't been able to calm her, and I'd rather not have to give her anything to calm her down until we're sure that she's not going to lapse into catatonia again." He paused, then looked at Okun appraisingly. "She keeps calling for you."

"Me?" Okun said, startled. "Why?" _Maybe she thinks of me as a friend, too?_

Issacs shook his head. "Why don't you go in there and find out?"

"I, uh. . ." Suddenly his mouth went dry. "Well, if you think it would help."

"As long as it doesn't hurt," Issacs said. "Go on in. I'll be standing by if she needs me." Nodding, Okun stepped in Dr. Stevens' room.

The lights were dimmed to a soft level and Brackish waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. He nervously cleared his throat, announcing that he was there. She must've heard him, for her crying abated somewhat and she looked up.

"Brackish?"

Okun took a step back, surprised. In the months that she'd been working here, she'd never called him by his first name before. In fact, it had been a long time since he'd been called anything but Dr. Okun. 'Brackish' sounded almost alien to him. When did that happen? He'd better get a handle on his life, ASAP. "Yes, it's, uh, me."

When she repeated his name again, choking over it in her tears, he found himself crossing the few steps over to her bed. He had never heard that much pain in anyone's voice. "I'm here, Dr. Stevens." He'd also never felt so out-of-place in his life. What could he possibly do for her? And she kept calling for him - was he that important to her?

Sitting up, she reached out for him with trembling fingers that locked onto him with surprising strength. "Brackish! Dead--they're dead! Screaming--burning!" She fell against him, sobbing, holding his lab coat lapels in a death grip. He was so stunned that he simply stood there, feeling her tears soak the front of his shirt.

"There, there," he said helplessly, awkwardly placing his arm around her. He patted her shoulder. "It's all right. You're all right. You're safe here, Dr. Stevens." He let her cry against him for a few minutes, wondering what the hell he should do next. He was a scientist, not a psychiatrist--oh, man, now he was turning into Doctor McCoy from Star Trek. He needed to get a grip on this situation.

He decided to try another tack. Placing his hands on her temples, he gently but firmly forced her head back. When he was looking down into her tear-filled eyes, he said softly, "Dr. Stevens - _Brenda_ , it's me, Brackish. You're all right. You're all right," he repeated, wondering if in this dim light of the hospital room he could tell her eyes were the most brilliant shade of green he'd ever seen, why hadn't he ever noticed it before? And her hair, so soft under his fingers. . .

"Good bedside manner, Dr. Okun," said a voice beside him. Issacs, he realized. "You can let her go now. She's asleep."

"Asleep?" he echoed blankly. He looked down at Brenda, confused to find himself seated on the bed beside her, cradling her against him. She was indeed asleep, her arms wrapped around his waist. "How did I. . .When. . ." he trailed off. He had no idea when he'd taken her in his arms. The last thing he remembered was her eyes, so green and full of anguish. . .  He cleared his throat and carefully disentangled himself from her. He eased off the bed, letting Issacs go around him to check on Brenda.

Issacs checked her pulse, nodding. "You do good work."

Okun felt himself blush and was glad of the low lighting. "I, uh, didn't really do anything." He fumbled at his tie, then straightened his lab coat, seeking to right himself with those normal rituals.

"You calmed her down. You've been with her, holding her for the past half-hour, talking to her--"

Thirty minutes! He'd been here for _thirty_ minutes? _Holding_ her?

"--continually amaze me, Dr. Okun. I thought I had you figured out, and you go and do something like this." Issacs shook his head. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"Yes. Well. . ." Brackish looked at his watch. "I need to get back to the Tamale. I assume you can handle it from here?" He was shaking and he hoped that Issacs couldn't hear it in his voice.

He could hear the mild annoyance color his colleague's tone. "Certainly. I wouldn't want to detain you any longer."

Nodding, Okun turned and hurried out of the room, hoping that it didn't look like he was running. Even if it did, maybe Issacs would just write it off to his desire to get back to the alien ship. Nodding as he passed a military guard posted at the end of the corridor - why was he there?  Oh yeah, he guessed they were technically at war now - he ducked into a storage room. He needed a few minutes alone to collect himself before he went back to work. Locking the door, he leaned against it, forcing himself to take a deep, calming breath.

"Man-oh-man," he whispered. "What the hell is happening to me?" He'd just lost thirty minutes of his life--had no memory of it all. But as he thought back to holding Brenda, feeling her warm softness against him, a slow, wondering smile spread across his lips.

Suddenly he wasn't so worried, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a few scene jumps in this short chapter. Apologies!

* * *

"What's the deal with Okun?"

Bob, the senior tech, swiveled in his chair. "What do you mean?" He keyed in the new set of specs on the alien craft's life support system. They were finally able to get hard data since the ship had powered up, and he was anxious to see just how far off he'd been before. Hah. Pretty damn close, he thought as the actual composition displayed on his monitor. Well within human needs.

"I've never seen him this 'up' before." Carl, another alumni from Cal-Tech and the Tech crew third-in-command, frowned. He tapped Bob on the shoulder, nodding towards Okun.

Bob tore his eyes away from his computer to see his boss make another wild gesture with his hands, explaining something to the monitoring crew. "Maybe it's because the President's on his way. You know how Okun loves showing off."

"Maybe." Carl didn't sound like he was convinced. "I think it's something else. You know, he didn't bust a gut when I screwed up on that fuel supply equation. You'd think that with Whitmore coming he'd be breathing fire to get everything ready. He just smiled at me and said that we all make mistakes. Tell me that isn't weird."

"Yeah, well, we don't have time to analyze Okun," Bob said, returning to his computer. "Let's get the rest of this stuff in before the President gets here. Hand me those figures. You did get 'em right this time, didn't you?"

Carl shot him a dirty look and handed him his findings.

***

"Check it out," breathed Carl. "It's the Prez, in the flesh."

Bob automatically stood up and straightened his tie.

Carl snorted. "You really think Okun's gonna introduce us? Look at him. He's so hyper he's headed for space without a ship."

The president and his entourage looked suitably awed and stunned at the sight of the alien craft. After a moment, the president left the group and walked under the ship, looking up at the strange markings that covered the surface. Bob felt for Okun; they still had no idea what those things meant. Bob strained to hear what was being said. He didn't have to. Suddenly the president yelled out something about millions dying and that wasn't what he called exciting. Bob cringed, realizing Dr. Okun had somehow provoked the president's outburst. Maybe Carl was right; Okun was certainly acting off-the-scale, even for him. A few awkward minutes passed with Dr. Okun filling them in on what they knew about the ship and the aliens, then the entire group, led by Okun, left. Bob assumed they were going to see the aliens. _Oh, well_ , he thought as he sat back down at his console. Now wasn't really the time to meet the president anyway.

***

Dr. Issacs had left to check on Brenda, so Brackish was glad to see him return as the president's group neared the vault. "How's she doing?" he whispered as Issacs fell into step beside him.

"Not so good," Issacs replied. Okun looked at him sharply and Issacs lowered his voice as he continued. "We had to sedate her. She kept muttering, well, _whispering_ really, in her sleep about wanting to be released. 'Release me', she kept saying, and 'release him.' It was pretty spooky. Her readings shot back up so we had to calm her down."

 _What the hell did that mean?_ Okun wondered. "Listen, don't say anything about her to the president yet."

"What? Why?"

Okun flashed a smile at the president who was raising his eyebrows at the exchange between the two scientists. "Ah, just one minute, sir. I need to talk with Dr. Issacs." He grabbed Issacs by the arm and pulled him out of earshot. "Look, if they know about her, they'll want to question her. Is she up to it?"

Issacs shook his head. "Not now, especially since I had her sedated."

"Do you think that'll matter to them?" He nodded back toward the group. "They're wanting answers, and right now they don't care what it will cost to get them." A rush of unaccustomed protectiveness filled him, surprising him with its intensity. And along with that came another surprise--he liked the way it felt.

"That sounds a lot like your methods, Dr. Okun." Issacs said, frowning. "But Dr. Stevens did sense the alien presence--"

"That's not been proven, Issacs! Do you have concrete evidence to support your theory?" He had to hurry. He could feel the president and his group getting antsy. No way was he going to let them grill her--not in the state she was in. Not ever. Nope.

"Look, I know how you feel about ESP, but even you've got to--"

"Not now, Newton. Please."

Issacs stopped talking, his mouth left open at the use of his first name. Okun had never used it before, but he sensed it was just the thing needed to convince Issacs how serious he was. "All right, _Brackish_ ," Issacs said finally. "But if telepathy comes up, I'm not going to tell a lie. Even a lie of omission."

"Fine. But be warned. I'll shoot you and your theory down, _Newt_." Brackish turned to see Nimziki, the Secretary of Defense, coming up behind them, looking very pissed off. But, come to think of it, he'd looked that way the entire time he'd been at Area 51.

"Are we bothering you, gentlemen?" Nimziki asked sarcastically.

"No, not at all," Brackish smiled brightly. "Now, let's go and see some aliens."

***

Brenda dreamed.

The dream was the same, always the same, yet this time, it seemed so real. . .

_Lights, blinding. Noise, static, loud. Alarms? Smoke - or was that steam? Shouts of warning, screams full of pain and terror . . . A huge, menacing shape, long, thin shadows flailing around it, reaching out, hurting, killing . . ._

_Brackish stood frozen, totally unable to move, his hands clutching his head. The pain! She could feel it -- it was ripping into his mind - pushing out his thoughts, his will -- **GET IT OUT, OH GOD IT HURTS! IT HURTS**. . ._

_He was no more than a puppet. Hurled up against the observation window, somehow retaining enough control to use his hands to brace for the impact. His fingers were splayed against the glass, moving weakly, clutching desperately for something to hold onto, for help. ._ _._

**_Release me. . ._ **

**_No!  Don't let it out!  Kill it! Oh, god - kill it! KILL -_ **

Brenda moaned weakly, one hand feebly reaching for her throat.

Nurse Stacy, ever efficient, answered her patient's obvious distress immediately. She nodded with satisfaction as her charge calmed as another dose of sedative hit her bloodstream. Then she spun on her heels and ran as a she heard the urgent call for medical over the base loudspeaker.

***

Dr. Issacs sighed wearily as he stepped back from the gurney. "Call it," he said to his nurse.

"Time of death, approximately 19:23. Okay, guys, let's tag and bag him."

"Stacy!" he said sharply.

"Sorry, Dr. Issacs," Stacy said as she covered Dr. Okun's body with a sheet. Stacy was as reverent with death as the next person, by geesh, it was just creepy old Okun. Stacy had never liked the man. He was just too weird. And besides that, she thought, wrinkling her nose in disgust, he smelled bad. _Really_ bad. It was nauseating. None of the other bodies they'd brought out of the operating theater smelled like this. Yuck. "Uh, sir? What do we do about the odor?"

Issacs stripped off his gloves and rubbed his eyes. "What? Oh, yes. Well, since we're not prepared for this situation--" Who could have been? -- "put Dr. Okun in the storage room and turn up the ventilation system in there."

"Yes, sir."

Issacs walked away from them, letting them finish up. He found himself heading toward Dr. Stevens' room, and he stopped at the door, looking in. She was still asleep. _Thank God_. He didn't think he could deal with telling her about Dr. Okun now. He knew, or thought he knew, that Brenda had cared for Dr. Okun. He remembered her calling out Okun's name, over and over in her delirium. . .

"Excuse me, Doctor," Stacy said as she directed the gurney past him. Issacs watched as his colleague's remains were wheeled into the storage room. Not a very dignified resting place, he thought. There was no morgue at 51; it was never considered necessary. There was, however, the alien cold storage facility, first used when the dead aliens were brought here. The bodies had been kept in cold storage until Dr. Welles had decided nothing more could be learned from them. From cold storage, the bodies had been transferred to the glass tanks where they rested to this day. The newest alien body had been removed from the operating theater to one of the labs for further sturdy. But, Issacs remembered, the cold room hadn't been used in at least forty years. It might not even work anymore. He'd have to check it out, get the bodies moved down there as soon as possible--he stopped, realizing the next step normally would be to notify the next of kin. Not anymore. It was likely that none of the deceased here had any remaining family left alive. Sickened, he wondered if anything would ever be "normal" again.

***

Brenda swam up from her drugged sleep. There was a foul taste in her mouth, and gagging, she sat up. Bad move, she thought weakly, as pain shot though her skull. Nausea swept through her, and cradling her throbbing head in her hands, she willed herself not to throw up.

After a moment, the nausea passed. When she was reasonably certain that her head wasn't going to explode, she pulled the blanket from her. Even drugged, she knew and remembered what had happened. She had to get to Brackish. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she struggled to get out of bed. _Oh, God._ She had to go to him.

The tile was cold under her bare feet, and she stood, swaying unsteadily. The room tilted and Brenda closed her eyes, her headache returning with a vengeance. Thoughts suddenly flooded her mind, images and sensations that were horrifying and alien to her. Her own thoughts were being swallowed up, replaced by the alien presence. With a mental cry, she fought to regain her humanity. But it was so strong, this hive intelligence, and she knew she was losing herself to it. As it grew stronger, she found herself wanting to lose herself in it, just like she when she'd lost herself in Brackish's eyes. . .

_Brackish!_

Her mind jerked free.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the door. There was a flurry of activity in the infirmary; all the medical personnel focusing on the woman that was lying so still on one of the treatment beds. Brenda pulled her eyes from the woman; there was Death around her. She shuddered at the intensity of the feeling. It was like her sensitivities had been pushed into hyperdrive. Somehow, contact with aliens had heightened her perceptions. She had to get it under control.

 _Concentrate. Shut them out._ Again, she called upon the image of those beautiful blue eyes. Her talisman.  Again, it worked.

God, how she loved that man.

She went down the hall unnoticed, heading unerringly for the door marked "Storage". He was there. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she went inside, closing the door quickly behind her.

It was dark. She fumbled for the switch, blinking when the small room filled with light. A sob rose in her throat as she looked at the outline of his body under the sheet. Anger filled her suddenly, and she ripped the covering off him. She'd kill everyone of those alien bastards for doing this to him! She stared at him, somehow surprised to see that his glasses were gone. She'd never seen him without them before. Her eyes strayed down to his neck, his throat a horribly vivid shade of red, burned by the contact of the alien tentacle. If she'd only been able to warn him! Well, she couldn't dwell on that now. There wasn't much time left. She took his hand, wincing at the chill skin.

She stared down at his face and began marshalling her thoughts, trying to shut out everything else.  The damn drugs she'd been given certainly didn't help.  Gritting her teeth with the effort, she focused only on Brackish. Time seemed to slow as she narrowed her thoughts to reach past the darkness that clung to his mind, searching for the spark she knew was still there.  She nearly lost her concentration when she finally sensed him, weak but still there.  With one last mental push, Brenda made connection.

**Brackish.  I'm here.  I know.  You're not alone.**

She didn't hear the door opening behind her, the questions, the call for Dr. Issacs. All that she could hear was the first wonderful breath from Brackish, could only see those exquisite blue eyes open and look up at her. She didn't even hear the thud of Stacy falling to the floor in a dead faint as the formally "deceased" Dr. Okun struggled to sit up.

"Welcome back," she said. He was gripping her hand tightly and she wished he'd never let go. He opened his mouth to speak, wincing at the effort. His free hand went automatically to his wounded throat, his eyes never leaving hers. It hurt to see him straining to focus on her. "You're okay," she assured him softly. He relaxed a little at that, nodding. Brenda reluctantly moved aside to allow Dr. Issacs to step in.

"Let's get him back into treatment," snapped Issacs. "And somebody get Stacy up." He threw a questioning look at Brenda as he helped maneuver the gurney out. "I assume you're the one with the answers I need. I'll need to see you after I check him out."

Feeling the loss as Brackish's hand was pulled from hers as he was wheeled away, Brenda could only nod.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

 "Feeling better?" Issacs asked as he took the cup of chipped ice from Dr. Okun.

"Yes," Okun whispered in reply. It was so unbelievably good to be able to move, to speak, to _think_. And to see. His glasses had been returned from his personal effects bag. He shivered. That was too close. If it hadn't been for Brenda. . .

"Up to a few visitors?" Dr. Issacs nodded back toward the door. "The President wants to talk to you."

Brackish nodded. "Brenda?" It hurt to talk, but saying her name was worth it. "Here, too?" He raised up a bit, looking for her. When he didn't see her, he lay back, disappointed. She had to be here. She loved him. He had felt that so clearly from the connection she'd made to awaken him, her love lighting the way, bringing him out of the darkness. She loved him, he thought again in wonder. And with another blinding bolt of clarity, he realized that he loved her as well.

 _I love her._ Those three words had a power that in his science he hadn't known existed. Why had it taken him so long to realize how he felt?

Issacs shook his head. "I released her and sent her to her quarters to shower and change. She needed to get away from all this for awhile." He grinned. "I had to practically pry her away from you."  Brackish smiled, and Issacs' grin grew wider. "She told me to tell you she'd be back as soon as she could." He turned. "Mr. President, please come in." He gave Okun a squeeze on the shoulder and stepped back to allow the president and his advisors to gather around the bed.

"Dr. Okun," President Whitmore said, taking the scientist's hand.

Okun flinched at the pain that flowed from the man. He knew, he just somehow _knew_ that the president had just lost his wife. "I understand that you're back from the dead."

Brackish shook his head. "Not dead," he rasped out.

Whitmore shot a questioning look at Dr. Issacs, who said, "He flatlined. No heartbeat, blood pressure or pulse. No brain activity." He looked apologetically at Dr. Okun. "You were definitely dead."

"No," Okun said as firmly as he could, annoyed that he couldn't just jump into the explanation.

"He's right," Brenda said from the doorway. Everyone turned to look at her. "He wasn't dead."

Brackish's heart leapt at the sound of her voice. Brenda crossed the room, smiling at him. Whitmore moved aside to let her stand at the head of the bed. Brackish lifted a hand out to her, smiling in return. "Brenda." Her name was a whisper of contentment.

Brenda looked wonderingly at his outstretched hand, sensing the offer that went with it. He could feel her hesitance, her fear, that she was somehow misreading him. Then she looked up at him, and Brackish put his heart in his eyes, knowing that then she would believe.

With a smile that lit his world, Brenda reached out and took his hand.

The president watched the silent exchange and felt hot tears rising. Marilyn looked at him like that. _Had_ looked. _Oh, God_. . . He took a deep breath and blessed Grey for breaking the moment.

"Excuse me," the general asked the woman, "but just who exactly are you?"

Brenda tore her gaze from Brackish to answer. "Oh, sorry. I'm Dr. Brenda Stevens. I'm a parapsychologist attached to the project."

"I understand the psychologist part, " Grey said, "but clue me in on the 'para'."

Okun could sense that Brenda took an immediate liking to Grey. "It means I study certain unusual events associated with the human experience. In this case, ESP. Telepathy. I was assigned to see if I could make connection with the aliens, since I'm not only a parapsychologist, but psychic as well. "

"And did you 'make contact'?" Grey asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Not until they were practically in our backyard." There was regret in her voice, and Brackish squeezed her hand. She returned the pressure, thanking him, and went on. "It just about killed me until I learned how to control the connection I had with them. I think I was hit so hard because for the past seven months that I've been here at 51, I've been so focused on making contact." She blushed, casting a quick glance at Brackish. **The times I wasn't mooning over you.**

Okun grinned. He could hear her thought so clearly that for a moment he thought she'd actually spoken it aloud. This was too cool!

"So you're in contact with them now?" Grey asked, obviously wondering how this could be used to their advantage.

"Yes. But I have to try to keep blocking it. It's too painful not to."

Whitmore nodded, remembering the pain he'd experienced when the alien had touched his mind. "You said Dr. Okun wasn't dead; Dr. Issacs and his medical equipment say he was. You can explain about that?"

She nodded. "For lack of a better word, Brackish was 'stung' by the alien."

Oh, that was good, Brackish thought in admiration. "Mental anaphylactic shock," he said in total agreement. **You tell 'em, Brenda.**

"Yes, my thoughts exactly, Dr. Okun," she continued, flashing him a smile.  She directed her next words to the president. "As you know, anaphylactic shock is an intense allergic reaction to a substance, such as a drug or venom. In this case, the 'venom', again for the lack of a better word, was introduced telepathically to Brackish. The alien was able to control him, use him to communicate with you."

"But, Dr. Stevens," Issacs joined in, "Dr. Okun was dead. I'm certain of it."

"By our standards," Brackish said. His voice was getting better.

"By anyone's standards," Issacs stated firmly.

"He wasn't dead, he was just, well, placed into a state of suspension," Brenda paused to take a deep breath and tightened her grip on Brackish's hand.  "Although I was drugged when Brackish was attacked, I knew what had happened to him. So I--"

"How?" interrupted Nimziki, raising one eyebrow skeptically. "How could you possibly know what happened to him if you were drugged?"

"Earlier I'd had a precognitive dream..."

**_Release me. . ._ **

Brenda's voice faded into the background and Brackish broke out in a cold sweat as he felt the lingering traces of her dream through their connection. He could sense her anger and helplessness as she remembered him smashing into the glass window of the operating theater. His own memory of the experience rose vividly. _Can't breathe/out of control/help me/get it out of my mind/oh, god, it hurts. . ._

Suddenly Brenda was there with him, her presence calming him, helping him to push the fear back down to a bearable level to be dealt with later. This connection had definite possibilities, he thought shakily, fighting to control his rapid breathing and hammering heart. Issacs started to approach him, concerned, but Brackish waved him off.

"I wish I'd been able to warn you," Brenda said softly. He looked up at her, and for a moment, they were alone.

Issacs coughed nervously.

Brenda blushed. "Um, sorry." Brackish felt her switch back into her 'professional mode'. "Anyway, because of my contact with the aliens, I understood what had been done to Dr. Okun, and I knew how to counteract its effects." She looked at the president directly. "Sir, I also know that this ability is new to the aliens, probably developed to deal specifically with us, a non-telepathic race."

"Yeah," Brackish said, "and you've got to admit it's a mighty handy weapon to use against us, especially when the mass destruction is over and they want to start being more selective." His voice faded on the last and he coughed. Brenda handed him the cup of ice and he smiled his thanks.

"You're saying that if the battle gets on the ground, we're just as likely to be forced to turn our weapons on ourselves?" Grey asked, shocked.

"They're probably already utilizing it in the air," Brackish said thoughtfully, talking around a piece of ice. "I'm willing to bet that the dogfights have been pretty much one-sided."

"Our boys have been out-numbered in every engagement," Grey countered. "They just didn't stand a chance against the enemy's shields."

Okun shrugged. "Whatever, general. But when they do bring the battle to ground, they'll be able to pick and choose who dies most efficiently. And that clears the way for some of those nasty ideas you had back in the vault, Mr. President."

"Selective breeding. Slave labor. Using us as a food source." From the mental communication Whitmore had received from the alien, he knew that the invading force would stay on earth until it was sucked dry. When the precious resources were gone, the small group of preferred humans left would be slaughtered. One last meal to ready them for hibernation as they traveled to the next world to conquer.

"Anyone that makes their cut will be 'stung', bagged and tagged." Brackish smiled sweetly at nurse Stacy who'd just entered the room. At his words, she fumbled with the tray she was carrying, nearly dropping it. He returned his gaze to the president. "Kept fresh until they're ready to decide just what they want to do with them. Better than Tupperware, huh?"

They were all silent as the depth of Okun's unexpected, but apt statement seeped in.

"Why didn't the alien 'sting' the President?" Grey wanted to know. "He made contact with him as well as Dr. Okun."

"Well," Brenda said hesitantly, "he, uh, the president I mean, he just. . ."

"I wasn't important, Will," Whitmore finished tiredly. "The alien needed Dr. Okun, not me. It knew it wasn't going to get out of here alive. It just wanted to use its last moments showing me the fate of our world." Grey started to protest, but at the last moment, reconsidered and kept silent.

"But why," Nimziki asked, again joining the conversation, "waste their own resources to destroy all our cities the way they have? Wouldn't it have been easier to have us blow them up ourselves with our own weapons?" He directed his words to Okun and looked annoyed when Brenda answered him.

"I can think of three answers to that," she said. "First, the weapons we have with that kind of killing magnitude would totally contaminate the resources they came here for."

"But they must've known we'd use the A-bomb against them," Nimziki said.

"Look," Brackish was beginning to tire of this man's attitude--especially his attitude when he looked at Brenda. "They've been visiting this planet for years, hell, probably hundreds of years, if you look at the evidence in earth's history. There's no telling how many of us have been taken for study. They know us. They know what we're capable of. They know we'll try everything we can to keep from becoming extinct, even the risk of using nuclear weapons. Sure, they let us try to blow them out of the sky once, just to let us know it wouldn't work, show us how defenseless we really are. But I bet that won't be allowed again. They won't let us ruin what they need." He smiled briefly at Nimziki, sensing how trigger-happy the man was. "But don't get the urge to try it just to prove me wrong."

Nimziki rolled his eyes. "Why are we even listening to you? This is a load of science-fiction bullshit."

"Really? That's an interesting opinion considering that you're the one that's been signing my paychecks to run this 'science-fiction bullshit' operation for the past fifteen years," Okun said dryly. 

 **Ouch. That one's gonna leave a mark** , Brenda thought at him with a mental grin. It was all Brackish could do to keep a straight face.  Nimziki scowled, glancing over at the President but kept his mouth shut.

Whitmore found himself re-evaluating his initial opinion of Dr. Okun quite favorably. "Dr. Stevens. You said three things kept them from using us," Whitmore said, bringing the conversation back on track.

"Yes, sir. The second is that although they basically have a 'hive' intelligence, their telepathic ability, even collectively, isn't that strong. They'd have to be much closer to us to exert that kind of exacting control over us."

"So you're saying that they don't communicate exclusively by telepathy?"

"Right. At least not at great distances."

Whitmore looked at Grey. "That explains David's theory of them needing to use our satellites to coordinate their attack."  Grey nodded. "So, is there a way we can use all this against them?"

Before Brackish or Brenda could answer, Constance Spano stuck her head in the door. "Tom, I'm sorry to bother you, but David really needs to see you at the alien ship." Her words, her voice, even her posture conveyed her urgency. "Okay, Connie. We'll be right there." Whitmore turned back to the two scientists. "I want to thank you both for your help, and I'd like for you, Dr. Stevens to see what you can up with to help us, using what you've discovered. Dr. Okun, I'd like you back at the ship, as soon as you're up to it. You're still our resident expert on all things alien." He smiled at them and turned to go.

"Mr. President, you didn't ask what the third reason was," Brenda reminded him softly.

Whitmore stopped, suddenly dreading to hear it.

The two exchanged looks, and it was Okun, not Brenda that answered. The president was right. He didn't want to hear it. "They enjoy the killing."

 

***

Word had gotten around that Okun had risen from the dead, so when the scientist entered the area that housed the alien ship, most of the frantic preparations for Dr. Levinson's bold plan ceased as the tech crew stopped to stare. Okun grinned. "I'm baack!"

A tall figure stepped away from under the ship, walking toward him. Dr. Levinson. "Quite a feat, Dr. Okun. I was told you'd been killed." They clasped hands warmly.

Okun shrugged. "Yeah, well, 'the rumors of my death, yadda-yadda'." He peered up at the attack craft, pushing his wet hair back over his ears. In his haste to get back in the game, he had taken what was most likely the quickest shower known to man. He hadn't even taken the time to dry himself properly. His black tee-shirt and blue jeans combo--definitely not his usual work clothes, but it was what Brenda had brought him from his room--clung to him damply. "So, what have I missed? Looks like you were busy before I showed up." He looked pointedly at some techs who were still staring. They took the hint and resumed their work. One of them, Dana, glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes looked him up and down appreciatively, then she smiled and turned away.

 _Huh. Maybe I should've worn jeans more often._ He blushed. He hadn't been 'checked out' in years. **Brenda, what have you done to me?** He felt her smile whisper across his thoughts in answer.

"Uh, Dr. Okun?"

Brackish smiled. "Sorry. So, you've come up with a plan?"

Levinson quickly filled him in and waited expectantly for his comments. Okun stared at him for a long moment. With a shake of his head, he said finally, "You've _got_ to be kidding."

"What?" Levinson frowned. "Is it not going to work? Did I miss something?"

"It's just that I don't know why I didn't think of it. _War of the Worlds_ is one of my favorite movies."

"What?" Evidently Levinson didn't see the parallel.

" _War of the Worlds_. Stopping the aliens with the cold germ. Stopping them now with the nineties version--a computer virus. . ." When Levinson still stared at him blankly, Brackish laughed. "H. G. Welles--and oh man, this is too good! A Dr. _Welles_ first headed this project." He leaned toward the taller man confidentially. "Kinda spooky, huh?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Levinson agreed.

Brackish didn't need his enhanced perceptions to know what this guy was thinking. Too bad. Well, Brenda would get the odd humor of it. Brenda. He still hadn't become accustomed to the wondrous connection they now shared, and he didn't know if he'd ever stop being amazed at the incredible feeling of contentment of having her be a part of him. He'd never been in love before and it was dazzling him with its intensity. He reached out mentally for her, suddenly needing to feel her touch, and became worried when he found her still with Dr. Issacs. There was an odd light haze covering her mind, her thoughts strangely muted. He suddenly realized the cause. The alien telepathy was becoming unbearably painful for her, and she had to take something for it. But whatever drug she'd taken--it was not nearly enough. He could sense the pulsing agony still on the edges of her consciousness.

"Dr. Okun, still with me?"

With effort, Brackish pulled himself out of Brenda's pain and focused on Levinson, who was looking at him worriedly. "Sorry."

"No problem," Levinson shrugged. "So, do you think it'll work?"

"Work?" Okun blinked at him, then remembered. "Oh, yeah. _War of the Worlds_. Sure. It's as likely to work as anything I can think of right now. Like I said before, we have to get around their technology, and this looks like the way to do it. But I think I see a few problems that you don't."

"Problems? What problems?"

"I assume that you're not driving on this little trip?"

Levinson nodded. "No, Steve is - the pilot that brought in the alien."

"Where is he? I need to ask him something." Brackish began to feel dread creep into him. He could definitely see a problem, and he wasn't crazy about the solution.

"Uh, sure." Levinson looked past him to the alien craft. "Hey, Steve! Can you come over here for a minute?"

A young black man dressed in a flightsuit jogged over to him. "What's up?"

Levinson nodded toward Okun. "This is Dr. Okun. Dr. Okun, captain Steve Hiller." The two shook hands and Levinson continued the introduction. "Dr. Okun heads up the project here, and he's got a few questions."

The young man looked back at Okun with obvious skepticism, but he nodded and said in a clipped, military fashion, "Dr. Okun. We met briefly when I brought in the alien prisoner. I'll be glad to answer to your questions, sir."

"Tell me about when you went up against them, ship-to-ship. I need to know something. Did anything weird--I mean other than the fact you were actually in a dogfight against Darth Vader--happen?" He smiled, hoping to put the kid at ease. He didn't think he was up to a spit-and-polish performance from a boy half his age.

The military bearing vanished and Steve grinned. "You're telling me. I was zipping around with all this green shit--uh, sorry sir--lasers, being fired on me. It was all I could do to keep dodging. And Jimmy--" he broke off, smile fading. He looked up at Dr. Okun. "There was something. My wingman. He got this crazy idea, I don't know, but he was acting weird. He. . . didn't make it."

"I'm sorry," Brackish said. They were close, he thought, sensing the young man's pain and anger at his friends' death. He hated to press it, but he had to be sure. "You said he was acting strangely?"

"Yeah." Steve sighed. "He was a good pilot. One of the best. A little on the wild side, but then we all have to be to keep the edge. He was going to try something different, then he, I don't know, he panicked or something--pulled his mask off when he knew better. . .that, well, that just wasn't him."

"How about you? You feel odd or strange in anyway?" Brackish asked with a sinking heart.

Steve shrugged. "I was pumped, you know, psyched. It was crazy up there. But no, I didn't feel strange." He looked closely at Dr. Okun. "What exactly are you asking me here?"

 _One positive, one negative._ Damn, he needed more data than that to reach a conclusion. But even as his mind raced around the problem, he realized that he didn't have the time to study it and the world couldn't take the chance of him being wrong. This plan of Levinson's was for all the cookies. If it failed, the human race would be extinguished.

_Well, shit._

Brenda would have to go with them.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

"You're sure about this?" President Whitmore asked.

"Yeah." Brackish felt like hell. She had to go and it was his fault. "She's the only one who can make sure that the aliens don't know that their long-lost ship isn't being manned--" he chuckled weakly, "excuse the pun, by humans. She's been in contact with the aliens long enough to be able to approximate their thought patterns--to cloak them on the way in. Without her, Levinson and Hiller don't stand a chance."

"And if she fails at keeping them 'cloaked', as you put it?" Nimziki asked.

"She can do it," Brackish said, his voice low. He really hated this guy.

"Even if they are discovered, she should be able to shield them from the 'stinger', if I follow Dr. Okun correctly," Whitmore said. "They still might be able to upload the virus and shoot off the nuke." The president looked at Okun thoughtfully. "You don't have the same ability?"

"No," Brackish responded tiredly. He'd never felt so old in his life. "I wish to hell I did, but I don't. Brenda's the only one that can get them into the mothership. When they get into the hive, the aliens' communal telepathy would be able to pick up on the humans in the ship. They'd just blast them--or worse, sting them and take them prisoner." He felt sick at the thought of Brenda being captured. _No, don't think about that. She'll be fine. She has to be._

"Then I don't see that we have any choice." Whitmore sighed. "Has she been told?"

"No," Okun said. "But she knows."

***

The Nevada desert was cold at night, and Brenda crossed her arms against her chest, wishing she'd thought to bring a sweater out with her. From where she stood, at the top of the main airshaft of Area 51, she could see the small city of RV's and tents that had sprung up. Behind her, the methodical whirring thump of the ventilation fan didn't soothe her as it normally did. Now, it was a timer, a clock ticking off the minutes before she would have to leave. To go be a hero.

To die.

She shivered.

She looked down over the people below her, wondering how many knew they were going to die in the coming battle. She could see the military canvassing the crowd, looking for pilots. _Pilots_ , she thought with a laugh. _More like sitting ducks._ Most of the people who were volunteering were to be little more than diversions, targets for the aliens to shoot at while the more experienced pilots engaged the city destroyer. No way could the lesser experienced pilots survive the "crash course" they were getting in modern avionics.

Sacrifices.

She knew that she had to go. Understood it. But she didn't quite believe it. Not yet. If she looked up, straight into the canopy of stars, she could almost pretend there was nothing wrong. Just another normal, beautiful desert night. The full moon cast a brilliant glow to the desert, and if she could just ignore the dozens of little lights that were campfires, she could pretend she was all alone. For the moment, she needed to be. But only for a moment.

She knew that Brackish would find her. She wanted him to. How could you not want the other half of your soul? Their connection was strong and getting stronger. She knew how devastated he was about her going, but there was nothing he could do. He blamed himself for her going, that he wasn't capable to do the job himself. Some things in life just weren't fair. Now that he finally loved her, she was going to have to leave him. It just wasn't fair at all.

"I agree," said a soft voice behind her.

She didn't turn, and after a moment she could hear the soft tread of Brackish's sneakers coming up behind her. Felt his arms go around her, his chest pressing against her back. It felt so good. "Thanks," she whispered.

"No problem," he said. Brenda could feel the words vibrate from his chest, finding it incredibly soothing. "How are you?"

"Better. My head just might stay attached." She smiled ruefully. "At least long enough to get the job done."

He stiffened against her, his worry for her flooding her senses. She patted his hands gently, not really knowing what to say to comfort him. She'd never lie to him. Not that she could, anyway--he'd be able to see through any lie immediately. That left the truth, and she was sure that he wouldn't find any comfort in that.

She wasn't going to be coming back.

She'd had premonitions all her life, and she had always relied on them to guide her accordingly. Decisions made with the foreknowledge had kept her from making some disastrous mistakes. Not that she'd been able to base all her life on the glimpses she'd gotten from her possible futures; sometimes you just couldn't change fate. And she felt that this was one of those times. She didn't see a future with Brackish; she sensed that her life with him would be ending soon. She was scared. She didn't want to leave him.

They looked out over the desert for a time, not moving, not speaking, taking comfort in each other arms. Then finally, Brackish said, "This is crazy. I'm going up with you." She didn't answer, and after a moment, she felt him sigh against her. "I know. I can't go." He tightened his arms around her. "I _hate_ this."

"You've got to stay," she said, her heart constricting at the helplessness in his voice. "You're the best hope they've got if we are successful in uploading the virus and they beat them down here." She thought about Brackish's genius idea to install a high-tech camera and sensor devices on the underside of the hull of the alien ship. It was his plan to piggyback video and radio on the same carrier signal that the aliens were using against them. Much better, she thought proudly, than the original VHF transmitter that was originally planned to be used. Brackish's idea would allow real time audio/video reception, critical to the timing of the world-wide attack. With the data that the camera and sensors sent back, and Brackish here to interpret it, they'd know more about the aliens. Knowledge that might be critical when the battle was fought on the ground.

She turned in his arms to face him, sliding her arms under his lab coat and pulling him to her tightly. She pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart.  Tears spilled down her cheeks. She'd better get a handle on her emotions. They both had a job to do.

He gently kissed the top of her head. "Have you ever read the writings of Lao Tzu? _'Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength'. . . "_   He paused, sensing that she knew the rest.

"' _While loving someone deeply gives you courage'."_    She smiled. "I always thought that was beautiful, but I never really understood it until now."

"I know I don't have to say it, but I love you."

She sighed. "Seems like I've waited a lifetime to hear that from you." She pulled back a little to be able to look up into his eyes. He was looking down at her with such tenderness that she almost broke down. "I love you, too." She felt him tremble, and then he leaned down and brought his lips to hers.

The kiss began shyly, tentatively. His mouth pressed lightly against hers in wonder, in awe, as they both felt the connection between them blaze even brighter. He moaned against her lips and it was Brenda's turn to tremble as he deepened the kiss. They clung to each other, exploring, seeking and expanding the depths of their bond, sharing the intimacy as one.

**Oh, _wow_.**

The single thought came from both of them at the same instant, and its incredibly simplistic and totally inadequate description of what they were experiencing struck them as hilariously absurd. Brenda felt his lips twitch against hers, felt her own laughter bubbling up and then spilling out. They held each other for support as they laughed themselves breathless.

"You know," Brenda said, wiping her eyes, "I needed that."

"I do know," Brackish replied. "And so did I." He gave her a quick hug, and somehow that simple gesture managed to convey the depth of his love even more than his awe-inspiring kiss. It touched Brenda deeply and made her realize that no matter how short a time they had together, what they shared was far more than most who had been granted an entire lifetime. It made leaving him a bit more bearable.

Reaching up, she gently smoothed back his hair, tucking its unruly strands behind his ears. In the moonlight, his hair was all shining and silver, his eyes a far deeper blue than she'd ever seen them. "You are one gorgeous man," she said, then grinned at his blush.

"Now, Dr. Stevens," Brackish said mock-severely. "I must inform you that flattery will get you everywhere with me."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? I'll remember that, Dr. Okun, and use it shamelessly to--" The sudden blaring of the base alarm system cut her off. She jumped, startled.

Brackish looked at her with wide eyes. "What the hell?" Neither one of them sensed an attack. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her behind him toward the access back into the installation.

***

"Twenty F-111s," President Whitmore nodded, pleased. "That's good news. We can certainly use them. And they must be some mighty good pilots to be able to land in one piece with no lights on the runway."

"Even with them, it's still a no-win situation," stated Nimziki flatly.

"You have a better idea?" General Grey asked, his patience wearing thin. "Then you should have told us about it. It just might have saved your job." The three men stood in the bullpen of the concrete bunker that housed the alien ship. The nuclear warhead had just been mounted and concealed in the attacker's hollowed-out gun turret. Grey gave the hidden missile one last check, then turned back to face Nimziki. Grey wished he could just deck the pencil-neck and be done with it.

Nimziki swore under his breath. "You still can't seriously think--"

"It's none of your business what I think anymore," Grey said. He lowered his voice, seeing the techs stop their work to stare at the argument. It wasn't everyday you got a front row seat to see such high-placed political intrigue. "Mr. Nimziki, you have been relieved of your--"

Nimziki switched tactics, looking at the president. "Tom, at least you've got to able to see the sheer science-fiction of letting that woman go along on the mission."

Whitmore shook his head. "What I see is a capable parapsychologist--"

"She's certainly big enough to be a pair of psychologists," Nimziki muttered.

"--who might be able to help our boys carry out the mission," Whitmore finished, ignoring Nimziki's crack. "I consider this discussion closed." He looked past Nimziki, his tense demeanor disappearing as he smiled. "Dr. Stevens, Dr. Okun." His smile faded as he saw Okun glare at Nimziki. He'd obviously heard the remark from the former secretary of defense.

Dr. Okun started to say something, but refrained when Dr. Stevens placed a hand on his arm. Then she said, "Mr. President, I just wanted to tell you that I'll do my best."

"I've no doubt of that, Doctor. Now, we need to see about getting you suited up. Will, make sure she gets a flight suit. Is there anything else?" Dr. Stevens shook her head. "Great. I've got a few thousand loose ends I need to tie up, so if you'll excuse me?"

As the men left, Brackish turned to her. "I know why you stopped me, I just wish you hadn't."

"Oh, come on," Brenda said with a grin. "That wasn't even a clever put-down. If I had a nickel for every time I've 'heard' someone say that about me when they found out what I did for a living..."

"Well, I don't appreciate it," Brackish said, his eyes snapping with anger. "If that guy even thinks anything derogatory about you, he's in for a rude awakening."

"Why, Brackish," Brenda said, one hand fluttering helplessly in front of her face, her voice taking on a heavy southern accent, "You fairly take my breath away."

He looked at her, his anger dissolving at her teasing. "You are impossible," he said. He resisted an impulse to ruffle her hair, then rethought it and did it anyway. "And don't pretend that you don't like my caveman impulses," he said. "You know I can tell that you love it."

Brenda smiled shyly at him, looking indescribably beautiful with her hair standing wildly on end. "Okay, you caught me," she admitted.

"Um, excuse me," Dr. Levinson said, walking up. "You must be Dr. Stevens." He extended his hand. "I'm David Levinson."

Brenda stared at him, then his hand. Her own hands flew to her hair, trying to smooth it down.

Brackish stifled a grin. So she thought Levinson was cute, huh? Oh, he was going to _love_ teasing her about this.  "Yes, this is Dr. Stevens," he answered for her. "David, meet your new crew member." He was surprised to find that he wasn't the least bit jealous. But he supposed that came from knowing her and exactly how she felt about him. There was definitely something to this link. It was a shame that it didn't come standard with every relationship. The familiarity and confidence they shared now usually only came after years of living together and for some, not even then.

It was a good thing they had it now, he thought, sobering slightly. They might not have those years to grow together.

"Uh, hi," Brenda finally managed. She took his proffered hand, shaking it briefly. "I'm Brenda. I'm very pleased to meet you."

 **You certainly are,** Brackish thought at her. He barely dodged a well-aimed elbow jab to his ribs. This time he grinned openly. "I've got to get the downlink set, so I'll give you two time to get to know each other." He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "But not too much time." He pulled back a little and winked at her. Then, coughing to cover his laughter as he got a definite mental impression of her sticking her tongue out at him, he headed for a workstation near the alien ship.

Dr. Levinson cleared his throat. "Did I just miss something?"

"Um, no," Brenda said, feeling her cheeks redden. She was going to cheerfully kill Brackish.

"Okay," Levinson clearly realized that he did, but he let it drop. "So, you're a parapsychologist. Fascinating field of study."

"Yes, it is." She fell into step beside him as he started walking back toward the ship. He had incredibly long legs - **Not a word, Brackish** \- and she had to hurry to keep up. "I mean, I think so, too."

"So, what were you working on before all of this?"

"I was studying Murphy's law," she said, shooting Brackish a dirty look as they walked past where he sat at a computer terminal. Oh, how sexy he looked, she thought, sitting there in his jeans, his hair falling around his face as he expertly keyed in data. She allowed herself a little sigh. He looked up from the screen and gave her a slow, knowing smile, raising an eyebrow at the lanky genius walking beside her. Oh, yeah, she thought, he was really enjoying this.

"Pardon me?" Levinson frowned. They stopped at one of the work stations near Brackish and Levinson picked up an Apple Powerbook. "You don't mind if I work while we talk?"

"Of course not," Brenda said, watching him as he accessed the notebook computer. An audio file from _2001: A Space Odyssey_ greeted him with "Good morning, Dave."  _Cute._   "Anyway, Murphy's law. You know, 'if anything can go wrong, it will'. I was applying it to modern machines that are based on sensitive electronics and circuits."

"Like computers." Brackish supplied absently from his terminal, intent on his work, but still very much in their conversation.

"Exactly," Brenda said, realizing that he was hearing this for the first time as well. In all her seven months at 51, she'd never told him what exactly she did before coming onboard. 

Levinson looked up from his computer and Brenda watched his expressions as he puzzled out how Murphy's law could be applied in her field.  "Oh," he said after a moment.  "I think I get it.  You were working on the theory that certain machines interact directly with human intention?  Like when you need your computer the most, that's when it conks out on you."

"Go to the head of the class, Dr. Levinson." Brenda was impressed. Not too many people were that swift in understanding it. "And, of course, the opposite should hold true. We should be able to repair or control the machines mentally."

Brackish looked her. "That's a great idea! It would certainly benefit the handicapped."

Brenda felt his enthusiasm and it warmed her.

He went on, excited.  "Think about it--they could be able to control complex machines by thought alone. They'd never be cut off by the inability to use their bodies--" Brackish stopped suddenly, his face darkening with regret. **I should already know this, and how important it is to you . All the time I've wasted. . .**

Brenda shook her head. **No apologies.**

His lips quirked in a half-smile, apologizing anyway. He went back to his work, his long fingers hitting the keys a bit harder than needed.

Again, Levinson sensed he was missing something. He rubbed his forehead, frowning down at his computer. Brenda took pity on him. "Sorry, we don't mean to be rude. Brackish and I, well, we have this mental connection, and--"

" _Mental connection_? Telepathy?" Levinson looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Really?"

At her nod, he glanced over at Brackish. "I got the impression that you didn't believe in telepathy."

Brackish sighed. Hitting the 'enter' key one final time, he stood up. "I've always believed in telepathy." He went over to Brenda, taking her hand in his. "I just didn't always believe in Brenda." He smiled at her, a sad, bittersweet smile that twisted her heart. Then he was all business again. "I've got to get the stuff hardwired in the cockpit.  Dr. Stevens, care to join me?"

She was still thinking about what he'd said. He believed in her. Oh, she supposed she'd realized that through their connection after she'd brought him out of the 'sting', but for him to voice it here, now, to Dr. Levinson. . . it was quite an admission from a scientist who lived and died by hard facts and scientific reasoning. Squashing the impulse to kiss him until his lips went numb, she answered, "Sure, I'd love to join you." Hand-in-hand, they made their way up the ladder that led to the hatch of the attacker.

Steve Hiller came up beside David, and the two of them watched Drs. Okun and Stevens as they disappeared into the ship. "Aw, they're kinda cute together, aren't they?" Steve commented with a grin.

"A matched set," Levinson replied. "So, Steve, let's make sure that we make it back in one piece, so they can be cute together for a long, long time."

"You know," Steve said, "you really need to work on this lack of faith you've got in me. You're starting to give me a complex."

***

"Watch your head," Brackish warned, then winced as he heard a muffled thud. "Sorry."

"Ow." Brenda ducked a little lower, rubbing her forehead. "First time I've been too tall for something."

"You'd think that with that bio-mechanical armor they wear, they'd make the access way a little taller," he apologized. "I guess it's been awhile since you were here, or you would've remembered."

"This place stills creeps me out," Brenda said as they entered the cockpit. "It's like being inside of a big bug."

Okun looked around the small cabin. "I noticed that right off, too," he said, sitting down in the leather chair that had been designated as Dr. Levinson's for the mission. "It makes sense, since we believe that part of the ship was grown instead of built. I did tell you about the armor plating? How you can see the pores and hairline striations--" he stopped himself in mid-lecture, seeing the patient, loving smile that Brenda was giving him.

He sighed. "I'm doing it again, aren't I? Getting so wrapped up in my aliens that I can't even see you." At her questioning look, he went on. "I never knew you didn't like it in here. Me, I _love_ it here, so of course, I didn't care if anyone else had a problem with it or not. Tough crunchies, babe, you're with the great Dr. Brackish Okun, so just grin and bear it." He shook his head as she tried to protest. He was on a roll. "Just like I never even bothered to ask what you did before you came here, as if you were waiting your whole life just to work with me on my project --"

"Well, now that I look back at it," Brenda interrupted, gently removing his glasses. He could tell she was smiling as he blinked up at her, trying to readjust his vision. When he was able to see clearly, the unmistakable passion in her eyes nearly took his breath away. "I think I _was_ waiting just for you."

Brackish lost his self-deprecating thoughts, actually, all his thoughts, as her fingers lovingly caressed his face, tracing his jaw line, then his lips. Her touch was electric, erotic. It was agony, exquisite agony, for her to touch him and him not be touching her. With a groan, he pulled her to him, wrapping his fingers in her hair, bringing her lips to his.

There was nothing tentative about this kiss.

They were so lost in each other that they didn't hear the familiar muffled bang as someone tried to enter the ship, misjudging the ceiling height. "Damn, I thought I'd remember about that," Levinson grunted as he entered the cabin. "Dr. O - oh, sorry."

Brenda pulled away, obviously embarrassed. Brackish sighed, then looked at Levinson and shook his head. "Something that just couldn't wait?" he asked wryly. He took back his glasses from Brenda and put them on. Levinson was embarrassed as well, though not to the degree that Brenda was. In fact, Brackish thought he detected a faint trace of amusement, and he bristled until he realized that Levinson wasn't laughing at them. The tall MIT graduate understood and applauded their relationship, and was wondering just how far this private moment would have gone if he hadn't interrupted them. Brackish wondered that as well, though he seriously doubted that his and Brenda's first time to make love would be on the floor of the alien ship.

"Well, actually, I was bringing you your computer. You said you were going to be hardwiring the downlink. . ." Levinson trailed off, realizing what he'd said could be construed as nerdly pornographic, at least from the point of view of the two high IQ's that were staring back at him, both suddenly grinning from ear to ear. "Well, anyway," he said, with a grin of his own. "I realized you needed this."  He held the small computer out for Dr. Okun.

Brackish took it from him, still smiling. "Thanks. You're right. I do need that, although it could've waited a few minutes longer." He looked at Brenda, promising her that they'd continue this later. Oh, yes, he thought, looking at her disappointed but still adorable frown, they'd definitely continue this later. "But since you're here," he said, looking back at Dr. Levinson, "we might as well go over a few things." Brackish stood up and gestured for him to take his chair. Levinson slid his lanky frame into it as Brackish put a hand to Brenda's back and guided her to sit in the newly installed third seat.

As he watched her settle into it, he realized how quickly time was running out for them. Too soon she'd be strapped in that chair, hurdling toward the mothership where millions of aliens and their collective telepathy waited. It could be too much for her. She could be swallowed up by the hive.

_No, no. Don't even go there._

"Comfy," Brenda commented as she relaxed in the leather seat. "I assume the computer is going to be attached to this?" she pointed to a tilted L-shaped stand that was attached to the floor in the front and slightly to left of her chair.

"Yep." Brackish gave her the notebook computer.

Brenda opened its screen and sat it in the junction of the L. "Pretty good fit. But what if it gets bumpy? It's gonna crash and burn."

Brackish theatrically produced a roll of duct tape from one of his lab coat pockets. "I didn't watch seven years of MacGyver for nothing." Expertly, he wound the tape around the computer, securing it tightly to its stand. Satisfied, he ripped the roll free and handed it to Levinson. "I'll let you do the honors with yours."

"Thanks. I'll take care of it after I network it into this system."

"You know," Brenda said, idly tracing the keyboard of the computer in front her, "I find it pretty amazing that the aliens use the same type of binary code that we do."

Brackish watched her fingers, remembering how they felt as they caressed his lips. He found it pretty amazing that he could be jealous of a computer. "Well, actually, I've been giving that some thought. Since they've been reconnoitering Earth for so long, it's pretty logical to assume that they'd use the technology that we had available, for their advantage. It's probable that they do have another form of computer language, but they're using ours while they're here. That way it would be much easier to break into and control whatever technology they needed, like our satellites."

"Yeah, I agree," Levinson said. "I was surprised when I could actually link up with this shipboard computer system. But glad. Very glad. Now if you're right, Dr. Okun, about the fin on top of this baby being the connector link to their equivalent of a mainframe, we're in business."

"Oh, I'm sure about that," Brackish replied. "That fin's really crammed full of terminal wiring. If this ship connects to its mama in any way, that's it."

"The Borg."

Both Brackish and Levinson turned and looked at Brenda, puzzled at the non-sequitur.

"What?" Brackish asked.

"The Borg. That's who these guys remind me of. You know, from _Star Trek_. They roll over and crush a planet, assimilating the technology and resources that they want, stealing the best of what we have for themselves. Left on their own, they develop nothing."

"I _hate_ the Borg," Brackish said. "Always did. No individuality. That really sucks."

"But like the Borg," Levinson added, "our visitors are quite a formidable enemy."

They all thought about that for a minute, then Brackish said to Levinson, "Okay, explain how you can know about the Borg, have your computer talk like HAL from 2001, but you totally blank out on me when I mention _War of the Worlds._ "

"Oh, I got the reference," Levinson said, shrugging. "It surprised me that you were able to find any humor in this situation at all. That you could equate this whole thing to a movie, well, I found that really. . .odd."

Brenda sighed.  "Oh, come on, be honest.  He can take it, especially since he already knows. He just didn't understand why you thought it." She looked at Levinson evenly. "You didn't find it _odd_.  You thought he was, well,,," she paused, trying to decide the least offensive way to say it.

"Off my rocker?"  Brackish offered. 

She could feel his amusement.  Unfortunately, he was used to his colleagues writing him off.  Well, so was she, for her weight.  "I prefer mad as a hatter," she said with a smile.

He grinned back.  "I always kinda liked around the bend.  Makes me think of a train.  I like trains.  Or, since we're scientists, we could opt for brainy and go Latin with non compos mentis." 

Oh, she did love Brackish's twisted sense of humor.  And, she had to admit,  it was fun to poke a bit at Dr. Levinson.  "Brainy works.  Or, we could be efficient and hit us _both_ with slams and go food-based.  How about bananas?  Crackers?  Nuts?  Nutty?  Nutty as a fruitcake?  Out to lunch?  Did I miss any?" 

"You left out nutso."

"Duh, I did."

Brackish gave a sage nod.  "Well, how about we settle for batshit crazy?  That's my favorite."

Levinson's jaw had dropped a little more with each volley of put-downs.  Both Brackish and Brenda could sense his growing embarrassment.   "I...uh..."

"Eh, don't worry about it," Brackish said with a dismissive wave of his hand.  "I get that all the time."

Brenda wasn't quite ready to let it go.  She loved Brackish and he was damn _brilliant_.  His quirks just made him more loveable.  Brackish leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"I sincerely apologize," Levinson said with a sheepish smile. "And, I should know better than to try to hide anything from someone with as high an ESPer rating as you, Dr. Stevens."  At Dr. Okun's raised eyebrow, he admitted, "When I heard that she was going along, I had a look at her file.  Well, both your files."  He gingerly rubbed his forehead where he'd hit it earlier.  "I realize now how off the mark I was, doubting either of you.  Again, sorry," he offered to them both.

"Well, I guess it's understandable, on both counts," said Brenda, sensing he really meant his apologies.

Brackish nodded.  "Brenda and I are different, we know."  **And I wouldn't have it any other way.**

 **Me, either.** She smiled up at him, then her smile turned to a frown.  She looked at Levinson again.  "Headache?" At his nod, she added, "You know, I think I can do something for that."

He shot her a side-ways glance. "What with? Psychic healing?" He looked interested. "You know, I've heard about that."

"Actually," Brenda said, reaching into one of her pockets and pulling out a small bottle. "I was going to suggest Tylenol. Extra-strength." She tossed him the bottle which he caught easily. "Well, this little talk made me realize that I have to do something before we leave." She stood up, edging carefully around the computer set-up. "I'll see you guys later."

As she started to move past them, Brackish took her by the arm. He could sense how serious she'd become. "What?" he queried softly.

She looked back at Levinson who was struggling with the child-proof lid of the Tylenol bottle, politely ignoring them so they could talk. "I can't explain right now, but it's important."

"Then I'll go with you," he offered immediately. **Besides, we have something _important_ to do.  Together.**   When she didn't blush, Brackish felt cold fingers of dread run up his spine. "What? What are you going to do?"

"Do you trust me?"

"What?" That question was so unexpected that he could only stare stupidly at her for a moment. "Yes. You know I do." **With my life.**

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks. Then trust me enough now to do this on my own." And with that, she hurried out of the cockpit, leaving Brackish to stare after her.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Brackish slid out from under the main control console of the alien fighter, wiping his hands absently on his lab coat. He got to his feet, looking over at his assistant. "Bob, when you finish with the camera, do a final check on the wiring."

Bob blinked in surprise. "I thought you just did that."

Okun shrugged. "I may not be up to my usual standards." He hated to admit it, but he knew that his mind hadn't been on the delicate connections he'd been working on. His thoughts had been on the connection he had with Brenda.

A few minutes after she'd left the cockpit, he felt the bond between them change. Well, perhaps not change, he countered as he re-thought the sensation for the umpteenth time. It had, well, _shifted_. As if it had been placed a few degrees off-center of her thoughts, taking second priority to whatever she planned to do. It had taken all of his self-control not to jump out of the ship and find her. He did trust her, but that didn't stop him from worrying. What was so important? What was she up to?

He sighed and brought his thoughts back to the job at hand. "Well, Bob, just give it another check. Okay?" He made his way toward the exit of the ship, wondering if he should go and look for her before he finished the downlink monitor in Main Control. He knew he wasn't going to be much use until he knew what it was she was doing, and that she was okay.

"Sure, Dr. Okun." Bob nodded and hurried to finish the connections to the digital camera.

"Oh, and Bob?" Brackish stopped and turned back to face him. "It's Brackish."

"What?" Bob looked startled.

Okun smiled. "My first name. Give it a try. I'm not Dr. Okun all the time, you know."

"Um, yes sir, Dr. Ok--uh, Brackish. I'll give that wiring the final once-over as soon as I'm finished with this."

"Great. I'm headed to Control, if anybody needs me -" he stopped in mid-sentence, in mid-thought, actually, as he suddenly figured out where Brenda had to be. "Oh, shit!" he muttered, his heart doing the impossible by suddenly lodging itself in his throat. He turned and ran from the cockpit, barely remembering to duck as he exited the ship.

By the time he made it to the lab where the new alien body had been stored, he knew he was right. She was there and she was in trouble. Hell, _he_ was in trouble. His head throbbed with pulsing, nauseating pain that washed over his mind, his thoughts - channeled from Brenda's increased contact with the alien intelligence. What the hell was she thinking, opening herself up fully to the hive? He reached out for her mentally and found he couldn't connect with her through the barrage of alien thought-language.

Fumbling for his access card, he hurriedly swiped it and waited impatiently for the door to open. "Come on, come on. . ." he whispered, then pushed the slowly opening door and squeezed through.

"Dr. Okun?" Major Mitchell, standing beside Brenda, hurried over to him.

Brackish was glad of the younger man's steadying hand to his arm. He didn't think he'd be able to stand up much longer. The room was doing a slow, sickly spin as he tried to focus on Brenda. She was standing next to an exam table, the body of the alien laid out upon it. Brackish winced as he saw that she was actually _touching_ the alien, grasping one of its 'hands' tightly in her own.

"You're _letting_ her do this?" he ground out.

Mitchell swallowed nervously and looked back at Brenda. "President's orders, Dr. Okun." He helped the scientist stumble over to stand next to Dr. Stevens. "It's not my idea. But she seems to be all right--"

"Like hell she is," Brackish managed between gritted teeth. If he was in this much pain. . . He shook off Mitchell's assistance. "Get her away from it." When Mitchell looked back at him, uncertain, he exploded. "Damn it! It's killing her!"

Mitchell nodded once, briefly, then turned to help Brenda. As Brackish saw him pull her away from the alien, his world took a sudden, violent shift and he fell, unconscious.

***

". . .hear me? Dr. Okun?"

Brackish groaned. "Yeah." He opened his eyes to see Dr. Issacs looking worriedly at him. He realized he must still have his glasses on - he could see his colleague quite clearly. "I can hear you. Stop shouting."

Issacs smiled. "I'm whispering, actually. Don't move just yet -- Brenda is all right. She's right here, next to you."

He knew that. He could feel her beside him, her hand holding his. But mostly he could sense her. The pain had receded and their link was once again foremost in her mind. He turned his head a little to look at her. "And just what were you trying to prove?" he demanded, but gently. Very gently. He still had one whopper of a headache.

"Um," she looked up at Issacs. "Could we have a moment?" Nodding, Issacs gave Brackish one last check, then stood and motioned for Mitchell to follow. When the two had left the lab, Brenda said, "Before you jump all over me, hear me out."

"I'm saving the jumping all over you for later." At least his sense of humor wasn't hurting. He struggled to a sitting position. Looking at her squarely, he said, "Just tell me what you were doing. And more importantly, why didn't you tell me?"

Brenda had smiled at his joke, but he watched it fade as she sensed just how upset he was with her. She let go of his hand and drew back a little, defensive. "Well, I had to do it, Brackish. When I was with you and Dr. Levinson in the attacker, I realized just how much I'd been closing myself off to the hive intelligence. I didn't understand why they were using our binary code, remember?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He could see where this was heading. "You realized just how much you didn't know about the aliens, and suddenly, you weren't so sure that you would be able to cloak the ship. You needed to further your connection - and you knew the best way to make contact was through the alien here." He gave her a smug grin, knowing he was right. And he got it. He didn't like it, but he got why she did it and forgave her. "Any of that right?"

Brenda grinned back. "Show-off." She pushed herself off the floor to stand, and held out her hand to him. Accepting it, she helped him to his feet. They walked over to the table and together, they stared down at the alien.

"Okay. So I understand. Actual physical contact with one of their species would heighten your sensitivity. But you should have told me." It hurt that she hadn't confided in him.

"Would you have let me come down here without you?"

"Do I really have to answer that?" Brackish countered with his own question.

"No, you don't. We both know the answer." Brenda said. "If you had come down here with me, I don't think I could've handled it. You would have been too worried about me--and I'd have been too worried about you. I had to do this alone."

"And damn near kill yourself in the process." Brackish frowned at her. "I realize just how much of the mission you're responsible for, but what if you'd fried your brain with the added contact? You know, 'This is your brain. This is your brain lost in the alien hive' sort of deal?"

Brenda laughed, remembering old anti-drug public service announcement he was paraphrasing. "That's a valid question," she said, when she'd regained breath enough to speak. "I just didn't think that would happen."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You didn't _'think'_ it would happen? I thought the contact was killing you. It sure hurt like hell."

"Tell me about it." She sighed. "Well, I did it, and now I know I definitely can cloak them."

He caught a thought from her, and surprised, he faced her. "You were hoping that you couldn't do it."

She blushed. "Yeah, I was." She sighed again. "Some hero, huh? Hoping that I wouldn't be able to help them so I wouldn't have to go. I'm not proud of it, but there it is."

He brushed her cheek with his fingers. "Don't apologize for that. I don't want you to go, and I --" He broke off as he suddenly sensed _exactly_ why she didn't want to go. He locked eyes with her. "You're not coming back, are you?" He grabbed her by the arms, holding her body as immobile as her gaze. He realized just how certain she was of her death. "You were planning on going up without telling me this?"

She blinked back tears. "I didn't want to tell you. I. . .I couldn't tell you. I knew through our link you'd probably sense it, but -"

"- but you hoped I wouldn't until you'd already left. Brenda, what were you thinking? That I couldn't handle it? That I'd heroically tie you up and hide you so I could take your place?" He shook his head, more angry now than he had been earlier. "Don't you think I realize just what's at stake here? I know I may never--" he paused, swallowing the sudden lump of emotion in his throat, "- may never see you again and - oh, man. . ."

He stopped, his eyes widening as he understood. "You're right." This time he wasn't able to keep his tears at bay. "It's different knowing that I _may_ not ever see you again, than knowing that you're definitely going to. . ." He couldn't finish it, just couldn't give voice to her death.

He looked at her, his eyes full of grief. "Even when I told the president that you'd have to go, I didn't think it was an automatic death sentence, even though I realized the chances that you'd make it back safely were about a million to one. You still had that one chance."

Brenda smiled shakily. "And since I'm not fond of soap opera scenes, I couldn't tell you."

He couldn't smile at her levity. He just couldn't, not this time. "You're sure about this?"

"About soap operas? Yeah, way too sappy for me." She nodded, relenting under his stare. "Yes, Brackish. I'm sure."

"Are you always right?" He could hear the pleading, hopeful note in his voice and he hated himself for it. It was hurting Brenda enough to have face him with this news without asking her to give him false hope.

"Well, so far. . ." Brenda looked down. "Yes. I've always been right."

He let go of her and quickly turned away. Too much. This was too much to deal with. But there was no choice. He had to deal with it. He'd never felt so helpless in his life. She was going up in that damned alien ship and she was going to die. And there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

Or was there?

Damn it! He was a scientist. A brilliant one, all modesty aside. There had to be a solution to this. Now, all he had to do was reduce the problem to its basics, formulate -

Hell, what was he thinking? This was no lab test. This was real, and this was Brenda's life. And his. He knew that life wouldn't be worth living without her. He smiled without humor. Brenda was right; this _was_ rapidly degenerating into a soap opera scene. But he probably wouldn't have to worry about going on without her. If the mission failed, the aliens would no doubt attack Area 51 when they realized that was where the battle was being coordinated from, so he would be soon be joining her in death. But now, to agree and just complacently stand by watching as she gave up her life. . . Oh, God. This was so overwhelming. Yes, it was just too much. All of this was making his already aching head hurt worse. But it was nothing like the pain that was in his heart.

No, it simply could not end like this for her. For him.

_For us.  
_

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to face her, determination glowing fiercely in his eyes. "You're wrong this time. I just know it. So you'd better get out your date book and record your first incorrect premonition." She started to speak, to correct him, but he wouldn't hear it. He couldn't. Stopping her with a finger to her lips, he plowed on. "No, don't say it, Brenda. I mean this. You're coming back."   **You have to.  
**

Brenda looked up at him, her brilliant green eyes shining with unshed tears. Giving him a trembling smile, she kissed his silencing finger, then took his hand in hers. "All right, Brackish," she agreed softly.

"No," he said, just as softly, but with a resolve in his voice that she lacked, "You're coming back. I refuse to believe otherwise." He pulled her to him and held her tightly. "You've got to believe it, too, Brenda. Please. Believing could make the difference." He smiled, his lips against her hair. "And I know that you're not a quitter, Dr. Stevens, but just in case. . ."

He pulled back a little so he could look into her eyes. "There's nothing more I want to do right now than to take you upstairs and ravish you. You _do_ believe that?" She nodded, blushing, her eyes filling with desire. Brackish felt his own body responding and he bit his lower lip, willing himself to be strong. This was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, no pun intended. "But we're not making love until you come back."

"What?" Brenda stared up at him, both eyebrows raised incredulously.

"You heard me," Brackish answered, trying not to see how soft and beautiful and disappointed she looked right now. "It's killing me, but if waiting is what it's gonna take to make you realize just how much I believe you're coming back to me - and make you believe it, too - then I'll gladly do it."

Brenda stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "That's one _hell_ of an incentive, Dr. Okun."

"I would hope so, Dr. Stevens," he replied with a smile. At her answering grin, he sighed inwardly, relieved. She would try, not just willingly submit to what she believed was her fate. She would do her damndest come back to him. "Now, I seem to remember some work that needs to be finished. Shall we?"

***

Brenda squirmed in her flight suit, adjusting it yet again. She leaned up against the wall of the small observation/break room that overlooked the hanger of the alien craft. It had been quite a feat, changing with the row of windows there, but she'd managed it, wondering whose bright idea it had been to have her dress here and not in her quarters. Probably that ass, Nimziki.

Major Mitchell stood next to her, pulling on one of the suit's shoulder straps. She sighed and squirmed again. This was embarrassing.

"Dr. Stevens, could you please hold still?" he asked, tugging at the harness, managing to loosen it a bit more.

"Sorry." Brenda muttered. "I don't believe this. I'm off to save the world and I can't find a suit big enough for my butt."

Mitchell coughed. It sounded suspiciously to Brenda like he was trying to hide a chuckle. "Sorry. Most of the suits have already been given to the other pilots. You should have shopped early."

"Why, Major Mitchell," Brenda said, surprised. "Did you just make a joke?" In all her seven months with the Project, she'd never been able to crack that military shell of his. It was too bad, too. She thought they could've become good friends.

Mitchell smiled. "Maybe, Dr. Stevens, maybe." He handed her a pair of boots. "I think you'll have better luck with these."

"Thanks," she said, returning his smile. "And since you helped me put this damn suit on, I think we know each other well enough to use our first names."

Mitchell smiled again, this time shyly. "Okay, Brenda." He extended his hand. "It's John, but all my friends just call me Mitch."

Brenda shook his hand. "I hope I qualify for the latter." As their hands touched, she inadvertently caught a thought from him that nearly floored her.

He _loved_ Brackish. Almost as much as she did. The boots she held thudded to the floor, and she stood staring at him, stunned.

_Whoa.  
_

Her shock and surprise must have showed on her face, for Mitch blushed and pulled his hand away. "Well, now I guess you know why I never tried to become friends. I knew you'd find out, being a psychic."

Brenda cleared her throat. "Uh, well, yeah. I guess I would have. I mean, I just did. . . " She stopped, knowing she was starting to babble. It wasn't the fact that Mitch was homosexual, it was how much he cared for Brackish. She'd never had any inkling of it, and she was certain that Brackish didn't either. "You, um, certainly shielded your thoughts well."

Mitch shrugged. "I've had plenty of practice."

She nodded. "Yeah, in the military, I guess you would have." She wondered how Brackish was going to react when he found out. Hopefully, better than she had.

He sighed. "Look, since you know, I want to thank you for bringing him back. Dr. Okun. I mean, I thought he was dead. . ." He swallowed hard, remembering and gathering the courage to tell her. "When I heard him asking to be released, you know, from the operating theater, I didn't give a damn about security, contamination procedures or even the president's safety. All I cared about was getting Brackish -- Dr. Okun - out of there. And then, when I went in and found him dead. . ." He paused, and Brenda realized just how difficult this admission was. "Well, anyway, thank you."

Brenda felt an incredible need to hug him, so she did. It was his turn to be surprised, but he quickly overcame it and hugged her back. "No thanks necessary, Mitch."

He pulled away. "Well, I need to go." He rubbed at his eyes, now red with emotion. "I've got to escort President Whitmore out for his final review of the pilots." He smiled. "And knowing the president, he'll have a few rousing words to give as well."

Brenda grinned back, pushing her own emotions down as well. "You're probably right. Too bad I'll miss it. It's one of the reasons I voted for the man. He gives great speech."

"True." Mitch looked down at her white-socked feet. "You sure you don't need any help with the boots?"

"Nah. I'll manage somehow, if I can actually bend in this darn suit. . . " She paused when a knock sounded at the closed door. She looked at Mitch. "It's Brackish," she offered as a warning.

As he moved toward the door, Brenda stopped him, laying a hand on his arm. "Mitch, listen. If this plan of Levinson's doesn't work out, and it looks like things are going sour down here, could you, I mean, would you . . ." She trailed off, not knowing really how to ask him.

But he understood immediately. Nodding, he said, "I'll do my best to get him out."

She squeezed his arm. "Thanks."

He smiled at her, then went to the door and opened it. "Dr. Okun. Please come in."

Brackish smiled. "Thank you, Major. I've just come to check on Dr. Stevens, see if she needs any help."

Looking at Brackish, standing in the doorway with his hair pulled back and secured into a 'tail, his eyes blue and sparkling and full of mischief, Brenda felt for Mitch. How could anyone _not_ love that man? "Great timing, Dr. Okun," Brenda said. "I could use a hand with these boots."

"Well, I've got to be going." Mitch turned back and looked at Brenda. "Good luck, Brenda. Come home safely." He nodded briefly to Brackish, almost saluting, then hurried past him.

"Well, well, well. . ." Brackish said as he walked inside the room and shut the door behind him. "It's _Brenda_ now, is it? Working your magic on Major Mitchell now, huh?"

"Not quite," Brenda said as she sat down tiredly in a chair next to the windows. "We just finally got to know each other." She smiled. "And we realized how much we had in common."

Frowning, Brackish picked up one of the boots and pulled a chair over to face her. "Why do I get the feeling I'm missing something here?" Sitting down, he patted his knee. "Give me your foot."

It took a second to determine which boot he was holding, then she raised her right foot and placed it on his knee. "Well, you are, but it's not my secret to tell." Brackish frowned again, but she knew he wouldn't push her about it. She'd found a rare man, this Dr. Brackish Okun. He was silent as he helped her into the boots, and when they were finally on, she stood up, stamping her feet to secure the fit. "Thanks. I don't think I could have managed it by myself."

Brackish eyed her appreciatively. "That suit is a little snug."

" 'A _little_ snug'? Brackish, I never realized you had such a talent for understatement."

He got to his feet, grinning. "I think it fits beautifully."

"Well, thanks," Brenda said. Movement out of the window caught her eye. Hiller and Levinson were down there now, suited up and ready to go. Her heart sped up as she realized it was almost time.

Brackish followed her gaze. "You know, Captain Hiller just got married," he said idly, but Brenda caught the seriousness in his voice.

"Really?" Her heartbeat grew faster but this time it had nothing to do with the mission.

"Really," he affirmed. He looked away from the frantic, last-minute preparations of the attack ship to Brenda. "And I was wondering how you felt about it."

"About Captain Hiller getting married?" Brenda looked at him blankly. "Uh, I think it's great."

"No, no," Brackish said quickly, blushing. Brenda's racing heart skipped a beat. "I meant, uh, how _you_ felt about getting married."

"To you?" Brenda asked stupidly. She was having a difficult time breathing. Must be the tight flight suit, she thought.

"Well, I certainly don't mean to Captain Hiller. He's already got one wife," Brackish said teasingly.

Recovering, Brenda smiled. "Tell you what. As much as I want to give you an answer, I'm not. I'm going to save it for the first time we see each other after I get back." She would come back. She couldn't let him down. Premonitions be damned. She loved him too much to leave him.

He rewarded her with the biggest, most beautiful smile she'd ever seen. "That's a deal, Dr. Stevens."


	7. Chapter 7

"Two minutes to scheduled lift-off. Clear the area."

"I've gotta remind Bob about his manners," Brackish said, nodding up toward the control/observation booth where they could see the senior tech put down the intercom microphone. "He forgot to say 'please'."

Brenda laughed nervously. "Oh, well. You know those scientists."

"Yeah, I do." Brackish looked at her, studying her face at this final moment before she left, imprinting it on his heart. "You remember how the camera and audio is set up, right? I'll be able to monitor you in the ship as well as record what the outside array picks up."

"I remember." She looked scared, and it was killing him to see her that way.

"You'll do great." His eyes bored into hers, willing her to believe it and to be strong. "You'll get them there and back safely."

"I will," she promised.

The floor was rapidly clearing, leaving the flight crew and their loved ones for their final good-byes. "Well. . ." Brackish found he suddenly had a million things to tell her, but their time was running out. So he kissed her, crushing her against him, leaving no room for the words he had no time to say.

Whoops and clapping broke their embrace, and they both looked dazedly up at the control booth where the techs were cheering them on, transmitted over the loudspeakers. He exchanged an embarrassed but amused glance with Brenda, and as if on cue, they both took a bow. When they straightened, Brenda, grinned and waved at the tech crew, then blew them all a kiss. The cheering grew louder. One of Area 51's own going on the mission. The crew was justifiably proud. Brackish watched her, realizing how calm she looked to everyone. Everyone except him.

"One minute to scheduled lift-off. Clear the area."

Brackish rolled his eyes. "There he goes again."

"Well, I guess you'd better get upstairs," Brenda said as she watched Captain Hiller's wife and son heading up the ramp. "See you around."

"You bet." Brackish said. "I'll stay in the control booth until you've cleared the launch tunnel, then I'm headed to Main Control to handle the monitoring. I'll be with you, Brenda. Remember that."

"I will." Brenda gave him one last smile then turned and walked down the ramp toward the ship. Brackish watched as long as he could, then activated the huge ramp. It slowly raised, and with a great, metallic boom, locked in place, shutting out the sight of Brenda entering the alien ship.

***

Brenda made her way into the ship, this time remembering to duck. Pausing a moment to take a deep, cleansing breath - this was it; she was really going - she heard a voice coming from the cockpit.

"This is important," Captain Hiller was saying. "This is our victory dance." She walked into the cockpit to see the young pilot handing a cigar to Dr. Levinson. "We don't light up until the fat lady sings."

"Fat lady. Got it," Dr. Levinson replied, looking about as scared as Brenda felt. Oddly, that made her feel better. Then he looked up and saw her. His eyes widened and he nodded over in her direction, getting Steve to look over his shoulder.

"Um, oh," Captain Hiller fumbled, clearly embarrassed, "Sorry."

Brenda shrugged. "For what? Only bringing two cigars?" She grinned, trying to ease his discomfort. She wasn't offended by what he'd said - although she had to admit it wasn't one of her favorite sayings. "That's okay. I don't smoke anyway." She edged into her chair, grabbed the shoulder harness and pulled the straps into place.

Captain Hiller gave a little sigh, clearly relieved, probably thinking that she had hadn't heard him.

Suddenly, Brenda couldn't resist. "Besides, I'm only here to do the song." When he gaped at her, she gave him a sideways grin. "Just make sure that I get the chance to perform."

It took a second, but as she hoped, Steve grinned back. "That's a deal."

***

When Brackish entered the observation booth, the tech crew parted like the fabled Red Sea, allowing the family and significant others of the flight crew access to the windows. He stood there for a moment, staring at their somber expressions. He was surprised at the funereal atmosphere. This was going to work. He just had to convince them of it.

"All right, " he said cheerfully. "Let's get this show on the road."

Bob smiled and picked up a headset, holding it out for him. "We're ready, Brackish."

Okun nodded. "Great. Carl up in Main Control?" He took the headset from him, putting it on as he looked over the control panel for the launch tunnel. Man, this place was a mess. Until today, it hadn't been used in years. He supposed he should've sent somebody up here to clean, judging from the concern he was feeling from Hiller's wife as she eyed the dirty, antiquated equipment. Well, at least he had sent Bob up here to make sure the tunnel would still open. Now would be a heck of time to find out that they couldn't even get the ship out of the hangar.

He could sense Brenda grinning. **Sounds like a classic Homer Simpson Moment.**

**D'oh!** Brackish chuckled mentally. He was glad that she could still joke - although she'd calmed down a bit, he could still feel how afraid she was.

"Yes, sir. Carl's up in the War Room, and he's got green across the board." Bob picked up the intercom microphone. "Clear the hangar. Prepare for launch."

War Room. He should've known the military would change it. Shrugging his annoyance off, he managed a smile, and looked over at his senior tech. "Magic word, Bob. Magic word."

Bob looked at him puzzled, then smiled and keyed the microphone again. "Please." The one word echoed over the now empty hanger, and the group in the booth laughed nervously. But at least they'd laughed, Brackish thought, pleased that he'd lightened the mood.

_Okay. Down to business._

"You there, Brenda?" he asked into his headset microphone. A burst of static answered, and he winced, adjusting the volume. "Okay, let's try that again. Brenda?"

After a moment, her voice came through, loud and clear. "Here."

"Great. That's a go." He nodded to Bob. "You're looking good, Brenda. We're preparing to open the launch tunnel."

"Um, roger that," she said, sounding embarrassed to be using pilot jargon.

Brackish hit the control buttons for the tunnel. A loud screech, followed by deep rumbling, like the yawn of an awakening metal giant, sounded in the hanger as the tunnel opened. The control room shook with the vibration, knocking loose some already crumbling plaster from the walls. Way to inspire confidence, Okun thought wryly. "Brenda? Remind Captain Hiller that he's only got a few feet of leeway in the tunnel. We never figured that the ship would be carrying a nuclear missile."

He could hear Brenda relay the message, then, "He says okay, that he's minding his store."

Brackish didn't care how cocky Steve was, as long as he was as good as he thought he was. Too much depended on the young man's piloting skills. "We're releasing the clamps." He hit the toggle and watched as the clamps fell away from the attacker, hitting the floor so loudly that several of the people in the booth with him jumped.

"Whoa - was that the clamps, or did the engine just fall out?" Brenda asked warily.

Beside him, Bob chuckled and gave a 'thumbs up', signaling that everything was still at what they considered 'normal' for the spacecraft. Brackish grinned as the alien craft rose and hovered steadily at about four meters. "That answer your question, Dr. Stevens?"

"Don't get cocky," she warned, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "You can be replaced."

Brackish bit back a rejoinder as the ship rose to the level of the escape tunnel, then poised there for a moment, as if wondering if leaving its home of over four decades was a wise decision. Then, making up its mind, the ship shot backwards across the hanger, smashing into the rear wall.

It took supreme self-control for Brackish to keep his startled comments to himself. What the hell was that guy up to? Could the kid really fly the ship or not?

"I told Steve he had the controls backwards," Bob commented softly, sounding vindicated.

"Everything okay, Brenda?" Brackish asked, amazed at how calm his voice was. That nuclear missile under the wing might not appreciate being jostled around like that.

"It's a general consensus here that we just experienced an 'oops'," Brenda replied, her voice shaky. "Well, at least I'm getting better at this pilot lingo.  I understood that one." 

There was a spattering of nervous laughter in the control room that died as the ship suddenly changed course and sped toward the escape tunnel. Through his headphones, Brackish could hear Captain Hiller's triumphant cry as the attacker shot into the narrow exit then out to the Nevada sky.

***

Steve Hiller was in his element.

Damn! This was one fine ship. A light touch sent this lady spinning in dizzying rolls, straightening up again at the merest nudge on the controls. This might not be the space shuttle, but he guessed it would do.

_Oh, yeah_ , he grinned, taking his hands off the controls just long enough to bug David. This would do nicely.

Beside him, Dr. Stevens sat rigidly in her seat, staring out of the cockpit window. She'd taken his stunt maneuvers in silence, one hand holding the laptop in front of her, the other, knuckles white, gripping the side of her chair. She looked like she was handling this better than David was, but then he realized that she was probably already brain-deep in contact with the aliens. He wasn't sure that he totally believed in telepathy, but he was certainly willing to have all the bases covered, just in case.

"How's it going?"

Steve blinked as he heard the strange, oddly filtered voice. He looked over at the camera/computer link-up, realizing it was Dr. Okun. He waited a second for Brenda to answer and when she didn't, he reached over and touched her shoulder. "Hey, you got a call," he said.

The woman jumped, looking over at him, then blankly down at the small computer. "Oh. Yeah. Hello?"

The pilot grinned at the way she sounded like she was simply answering the phone, instead of a high-tech communication.

Okun repeated his question. "Oh, fine. We're all fine," Brenda answered, sounding a bit dazed.

Steve followed her gaze as she looked past him to David. The lanky scientist had his eyes closed and was muttering faintly to himself. Beads of perspiration shone on his forehead.

"Um, aren't we?" the parapsychologist asked.

David opened one eye and looked at her. "Just fine. Peachy."

"How about you? Getting anything from the hive yet?" Steve could hear the concern in Dr. Okun's voice.

"Oh, yes. Definitely." Brenda sounded a little strained. "But on a lighter note, we've hit zero gravity."

Down in the 'War' Room at Area 51, Brackish shook his head at her pun. He was totally oblivious to the flurry of the military working around him; his attention was fixed to the downlink monitor. The screen was split for the two relays - one from the outside camera fixed under the ship, the other from the interior, the tiny camera secured to the top of his laptop computer positioned in front of Brenda. The picture was clear enough that he could see the tension on Brenda's face. The camera for the inside of the ship really wasn't necessary for the mission, but necessary for him. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep a steady stream of mental contact with Brenda; she'd be far too busy with the alien intelligence. He needed desperately to be with her, to keep reminding her of her promise to return.

"Everything okay?"

The voice in his ear startled him. Brackish looked up to see Major Mitchell bending next to him, peering at the monitor. "So far, yeah."

Mitchell looked grim. "The aliens know about us. The primary target ship has changed course, and it's heading right for 51. How about them?" He gestured toward the screen. "They still a secret?"

Okun could feel Brenda tense through their link. The pickup on his microphone must be strong enough that she'd heard Mitchell. "How about it, Brenda?" he asked, concerned for her. "You getting anything on that?"

He could see Brenda frowning, focusing. "Nothing. We're fine. But Brackish -"

He cut her off. "Don't worry about us, we'll be okay."

Brenda stared intently at the camera for a moment, then said, "You'll make sure that you don't take any chances? If it looks like 51 is a lost cause, you'll go?"

"It won't come to that, Brenda," Brackish said, managing to sound unconcerned. At least he didn't think it would come to that. The alternatives weren't much fun to think about.

Brenda frowned again, evidently not liking his answer. "Mitch?"

Major Mitchell leaned closer to the microphone. "Don't worry about anything down here," he said quietly.

Brackish eyed the man sharply, sensing something left unsaid. Then Mitchell abruptly straightened, pulling away from him, and the odd feeling vanished. Okun stared up at him, trying to define what he'd sensed, but he dismissed it immediately as he felt the renewed fear that suddenly flowed from Brenda. He looked back down at her monitor.

"There it is," Brenda said in a whisper.

Brackish pulled his eyes from her to the under hull camera view. It was working perfectly, showing what could only be the mother ship. Sensor data started flowing in and Brackish held back an astonished breath as he scanned it. The mother ship was at least one-fourth the size of the moon.

"They're bringing us in," Brenda said, abstracted, her eyes fixed on a point past the camera lens.

"Incredible," he murmured, fascinated and repulsed at the same time. The mother ship grew in size as the attacker neared it, and Brackish squinted at the underside of the mammoth ship's hull. It looked like . . . He punched up the zoom on the digital camera and confirmed his suspicions. "Check it out," he said, looking around for someone to share this with. Major Mitchell had gone back to his post, and the rest of the military guys looked pretty busy.

Shrugging, Okun returned his attention to the screen. It looked like there was about a hundred more city destroyers still docked. And the empty rings beside them . . . Okun bet if he counted he'd come up with thirty-six - the number that had attacked the earth.

The screen fuzzed a bit as the attacker was swallowed up in the great ship. Brackish had to keep himself focused on not contacting Brenda; she was too busy with her end of the mission. It would be tough, but he knew that he couldn't reach out to her until she contacted him. His only connection to her now was through technology - the downlink. Applying himself to that, he found himself pulling back slightly when the distortion cleared and the perspective inside the mother ship made him a bit dizzy. The attacker was being pulled along a good clip, he noted, swallowing back his nausea. Brackish realized that he'd stopped checking the streaming data that was being fed to his computer when he saw something that made his stomach twist anew. With a shaking hand, he angled the lens to pick up the circular platform that the little ship was now passing over.

Aliens. Thousands of them. Loading themselves on to ships.

An invasion.

Before Brenda, Brackish Okun, mad scientist extraordinaire, couldn't have lapped all this alien information up fast enough. Now he sat frozen, his eyes glued to what should have been the pinnacle of his life's work, but wanting nothing more than for Brenda to do her job and get the hell outta there. He watched, mute, as the attacker rose higher, giving him a better view of the aliens on the platform. The row after row of troops, loading in the long ships docked around the platform's edge-and the soft shimmering of an energy field that domed them, protecting the aliens from the vacuum of space. The scientist in him was fascinated, but the man that loved Brenda was terrified.

The attacker docked, and Levinson uploaded the virus. Distantly, he heard General Grey give the order to attack, but Brackish couldn't pull his attention from the monitor.

"Now," he whispered fiercely, "Brenda, get out of there."

A line of static showed on both screens, then abruptly cleared, only to flicker and steady again. The virus, Okun suddenly realized. It was working! The downlink from the attacker was piggy-backed on the same carrier signal the aliens had hijacked. Of course the attacker-to-ground link would be affected. He'd totally over-looked that little piece of critical information. And he was supposed to be a genius. . .

"It's not working," Grey said, sounding defeated. "The shields are still up. Eagle One, disengage. Get out of there."

Okun let out an frustrated sigh, angry at himself for not thinking this plan all the way through. "Give it a sec, General. It's got to filter down to the ships." Duh, Brackish thought, shaking his head in disgust. Typical military mind, expecting instant results. The virus was working - he had proof of that. The downlink had given up completely, and he was left staring at a black screen, his headphone hissing with static.

Then around him, all hell broke loose. Okun looked up again, and General Grey nodded, his eyes gleaming. "We got through! Damn it, man, they did it! You did it!"

"Great, General," Okun said without much enthusiasm. What the hell else had he missed on this great scheme? His stomach was twisted in knots of worry, and he dug into his lab coat pockets for some antacid. Finding none, he sighed. Typical.

He turned his supposedly superior intellect back to the mission. Sure, the missiles could hit the city destroyers, but could they bring them down? He _had_ thought about that. When the nuclear missile that Brenda's ship was carrying K.O.'d Big Mama, the power supply to the surface ships would be cut off. That would bring down the city destroyers and the remaining attack craft, (and Brackish didn't even want to think about what the enormous weight of thirty-six fifteen mile-wide ships crashing down would do to the planet's tectonic plates) and then maybe the military could finish them off. But that also meant that Brenda's ship would be without power and it would still be a heck of a long way from home, given the thirty second timer on the bomb.

He'd taken Steve Hiller aside and warned him about that unfortunate side-effect. The pilot was nonchalant, stating that it would be no different than landing the space shuttle, and he'd been wanting to do that his whole life. Never trained for it, Brackish remembered uneasily, but had been assured that it would be 'a piece of cake'.

It had damn well better be.

The lights in the War Room flickered, and Brackish felt more than heard the faint rumble from above them. Suddenly feeling helpless and not liking it one bit, he slid off his headset and placed it on the terminal in front of him. All he could do now was wait and see who was still standing when the smoke cleared. The attack on Area 51 had begun.


End file.
